UC-NRLF 


B   14  S1E  bSD 


DOCTOR  JOHNSON 


A.  EDWARD  NEWTON 


Doctor   Johnfon 


DR.   JOHNSON 

From  a  Portrait  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 


DOCTOR 

JOHNSON 


PLAT 

By 

A.  EDWARD  NEWTON,  Efq 

^Author  of 


The  AMENITIES  OF 

BOOK-COLLECTING 

and  KINDRED 
AFFECTIONS 


A  MAGNIFICENT 

FARCE  &f  Other 

DIVERSIONS  of 

a  BOOK-COLLECTOR 


BOSTON 

The  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY  Press 


MDCCCCXXIII 


Copyright,  i$2j,  by  A.  EDWARD  NEWTON 


D.  B.  Updike,  The  Merrymount  Press,  Boston 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


To  CECIL  HARMSWORTH,  Esq., 
M.P. 

My  dear  Harmsworth: 

In  dedicating  this  Book  to  you,  I  do  not 
doubt  that  I  chiefly  honour  myfelf.  You  will, 
neverthelefs ,  accept  it  as  a  gefture  of  appreci 
ation  from  "  The  Plantations"  as  Dr.  John/on 
called  this  Country. 

You  have  made  //,  Cough  Square^  the  houfe 
in  which  the  Dictionary  was  written,  a  Shrine 
to  which  Johnfonians  refort  to  do  Honour  to  his 
Memory.  And,  Sir,  in  Johnfonian  phrafe,  you 
are  to  regard  this  flight  Performance,  if  it  be 
pleaflng  to  you,  as  a  Reward  of  Merit;  and  if 
otherwife,  as  "one  of  the  Inconveniences  of 
Eminence." 

A.  EDWARD  NEWTON 


527.-JSG 


Announcement  by  Defire. 


By  His  Majeftfs  Company. 
AT  THE 

Theatre  Royal  in  Drury-lane, 

This  prefent  Seafon  being  the  SPRING  of  1923, 
The  firft  performance  of 

DR.  JOHNSON 

GIVEN     BY     AN     IMMORTAL     CAST     INCLUDING 

Sir  JOSHUA    REYNOLDS, 
Mr.  T  H  R  A  L  E,   Mr.  B  O  S  W  E  L  L, 

Mr.  G  A  R  R  I  C  K , 

Mrs.  THRALE,    Mifs  BURNEY, 

Mr.  BURKE,   Mr.  GOLDSM  I  TH, 

Mrs.  WOFFINGTON3and  Others 
Adapted  to  the  BOARDS  (with  alterations)  by 

MR.  A.  EDWARD  NEWTON 

A  Gentleman  of  Philadelphia  in  Pennfyhania. 

PLACES  for  the  PERFORMANCE  may  now  be  fecured. 
Nothing  under  FULL  PRICE  will  be  taken. 

§  §  No  Money  to  be  taken  at  the  Stage-door,  nor  any  Money  to  be 
returned  after  the  Curtain  is  drawn  up. 

%  |  It  is  hop'd  no  Gentlemen  will  take  it  ill  that  they  can't  be  admitted  behind 
the  Scenes. 

VIVANT    REX   &   REGINA 


List   of  the 
Illustrations. 


Frontispiece 

From  a  Portrait  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  In  the  possession  of  A. 
Edward  Newton,  8sq. 

James  Bos  well.  Facing  page   10 

From  a  Drawing  by  Cj-eorge  Dance  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery, 
London. 

Mrs.  Thrale.  26 

From  a  Drawing  by  (jeorge  Dance  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery, 
London. 

Oliver  Goldsmith.  38 

From  a  Sketch  by  Sir  'Joshua  Reynolds  in  the  British  Museum. 

General  Paoli.  44 

From  William  Daniell's  Engraving  after  a  Drawing  by  Cjeorge 
Dance  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery,  London. 

Fanny  Burney.  90 

From  an  Engraving  in  an  extra-illustrated  copy  of  John  Doran's 
"History  of  the  English  Stage"  in  the  Theatre  Collection  of  the 
Harvard  College  Library. 

Mr.  Piozzi.  96 

From  a  Drawing  by  Cj-eorge  Dance  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery, 
London. 


x  ILLUSTRATION  So 

Mrs.  Siddons.  1 1  o 

From  a  Portrait  by  (filbert  Stuart  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery, 
London. 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  1 1 8 

From  a  Drawing  by  M.  Haughton,  taken  from  the  original  pic 
ture  by  Reynolds  in  the  Council  Room  of  the  Royal  Academy. 


r  g  u  m  e  n  t. 

AYONE  with  a  teaspoonful  of  imagination  can  read 
this  play  with  pleasure ;  with  two  tea  spoonsful,  I 
will  not  be  responsible  for  results.  He,  or  she,  may 
be  disappointed,  for  there  is  no  plot  to  speak  of.  But  there  is 
talk — about  as  good  talk  as  has  ever  been  reported,  and 
James  Boswell  as  a  reporter  has  never  had  an  equal. 

My  own  part  in  the  work  is  very  attenuated,  as  attenu 
ated  as  a  piece  of  thread:  it  has  to  be,  for  on  this  slender 
thread,  of  my  own  manufacture,  I  have  elected  to  string 
jewels,  exquisite  in  cut  and  colour.  It  is  believed  that  the 
stones  match  and  that  the  thread  does  not  show  —  much. 

7 he  jewels  are,  most  of  them,  genuine,  a  few  are  tec  las; 
and  ardent  Johnsonians,  and  Boswellians  too,  may  amuse 
themselves  in  sorting  them  out  if  they  care  to.  I  permit  my 
self  to  remark  that  several  experts  have  been  deceived.  For 
several  I  am  indebted  to  friends ;  for  example,  the  letter  on 
page  1 08  was  written  many  years  ago,  not  by  Dr.  Johnson, 
but  by  an  eminent  Johnsonian  scholar,  to  Mrs.  Newton 
who  greatly  values  it.  Likewise  the  retort,  "Madam,  I  take 
refuge  in  incredulity"  I  got  from  Mrs.  John  Markoe  who 
had  it  from  her  father.  The  phrase  is  faultlessly  John 
sonian;  if  it  was  originally  Johnson's,  /  cannot  put  my 
mental  finger  upon  it.  The  reference  to  the  Dictionary  being 

edited 


xii  ARGUMENT. 

edited  by  a  Scotch  Presbyterian  is  an  imitation  of  Johnson 
which  was  doing  double  duty  in  the  newspapers  a  few  years 
ago.  I  do  not  know  who  set  this  ball  a-rolling. 

Amy  Lowell,  Caroline  Sinkler,  and  Mrs.  John  Markoe 
were  invited  to  Mrs.  Th rale's  party  but  were  unable  to  ac 
cept.  "I  don't  care  a  Jig  for  the  defection  of  the  females" 
Mrs.  Thrale  remarked  to  her  husband  one  morning  over  the 
breakfast  table,  tossing  aside  several  notes;  "Elizabeth 
Carter  and  Hannah  More  and  Mrs.  Montagu  will  be 
only  too  glad  to  take  their  places,  but  mark  my  words,  it 
means  that  we  shall  lose  /A?  Lord  Primate,  Edmund  Burke 
and  Charles  Fox,  and  I  had  rather  counted  on  their  adding 
lustre  to  the  affair."  "Dont  count  your  chickens  before  they 
are  hatched,  my  dear"  said  Mr.  Thrale.  "And"  he  con 
tinued^  "they  will  lose  an  excellent  dinner." 

A  word  as  to  my  cast.  The  greatest  actor  that  England 
ever  produced,  as  well  as  some  of  her  greatest  men ;  authors, 
artists,  dramatists,  and  statesmen,  grand  ladies  and  women 
of  the  town,  are  included.  It  would  be  difficult  to  get  such  a 
company  together  nowadays.  You  may  say  that  my  actors  are 
merely  shadows :  I  stipulated  that  you  were  to  have  a  tea- 
spoonful  of  imagination  ;  you  remember  that.  For  myself,  at 
any  rate,  these  people,  all  of  them,  are  my  very  real  friends. 
They  are  quite  as  real  and  much  more  interesting  than  most 

of 


ARGUMENT.  xiii 

of  those  among  whom  my  lot  is  cast.  Had  I  been  in  London 
in  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century^  should  I  have  been 
privileged  to  know  them  as  I  know  them  now  ?  I  should  say, 
or  rather  they  would  have  said,  CERTAINLY  NOT.  /  am 
better  off  as  I  am,  and  perhaps  you  are  too,  Dear  Reader. 
[Exit  Author  carrying  a  short  piece  of  thread  which  he 
had  left  over.] 

A.  EDWARD  NEWTON 


"  Oak  Knoll?  Daylesford 
Pennsylvania 

June  23,  1922 


Topographical. 


DR.  JOHNSON'S  HOUSE  in  Gough  Square  still  exists;  in  his 
time  it  was  a  not  unfashionable  neighbourhood.  It  is  believed 
to  be  the  only  one  of  Dr.  Johnson's  many  London  residences 
now  remaining,  and  of  all  of  them  it  is  the  most  important, 
for  in  it  Johnson  lived  for  ten  years,  from  1748  to  1758,  and 
in  it  he  wrote  the  greater  part  of  the  Dictionary  and  several 
other  of  his  more  important  literary  works. 

The  house  was  acquired  by  Mr.  Cecil  Harmsworth,  M.P., 
in  1911  and  it  remains  his  property,  although  it  is  understood 
that  he  may  give  it  to  the  nation.  After  thoughtful  and  ex 
pensive  alterations,  which  mercifully  are  but  little  in  evidence, 
it  has  become  one  of  the  most  visited  of  the  small  museums 
in  London. 

It  is  not  exactly  easy  to  find.  After  leaving  the  Griffin,  the 
site  of  old  Temple  Bar,  walking  some  distance  east  on  the  left 
hand  side  of  Fleet  Street  and  peering  up  (or  down)  a  num 
ber  of  narrow  courts  with  such  seductive  names  as  Johnson's 
Court  (which,  by  the  way,  has  no  reference  whatever  to  our 
Johnson)  and  Bolt  Court,  one  comes  upon  Wine  Office  Court. 
Turning  up  (or  down)  one  passes  on  the  right,  after  a  few 
steps,  the  Old  Cheshire  Cheese.  The  legend  which  associates 
this  tavern  with  the  great  Lexicographer  is  a  triumph  of  ad 
vertising,  for  there  is  no  single  contemporary  reference  con 
necting  Johnson  with  it.  It  is,  however,  quite  possible  that  he 
may  have  frequented  it,  as  it  was  on  his  side  of  Fleet  Street, 

which, 


XVI 


TOPOGRAPHICAL. 


which,  as  an  old  man,  he  disliked  to  cross.  Passing  the  Cheese 
a  distance  of  perhaps  fifty  yards  and  turning  sharply-  to  the 
left,  a  short  walk  brings  one  into  Gough  Square,  with  the 
Johnson  house  on  the  opposite  side. 

And  it  is  well  worth  a  visit.  It  is  now  ninety  years  since 
Carlyle,  "not  without  labour  and  risk,"  discovered  it  and 
wrote  a  description  of  it  in  his  famous  review  of  a  new  edition 
of  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson.  It  is  a  substantial  brick  edifice  of 
three  stories  and  an  attic.  The  front  doorway  deserves  special 
attention,  and  the  quaint  chain  bolt  inside  should  not  be  over 
looked.  The  stout  old-fashioned  oak  balustraded  stairs,  which 
caught  Carlyle's  eye,  still  remain  as  evidence  of  the  good  work 
manship  of  two  hundred  and  odd  years  ago.  The  caretakers, 
who  live  in  a  tiny  house  near  by,  are  excellent  Johnsonians, 
and  take  pleasure  in  showing  the  house  to  the  constantly  in 
creasing  number  of  disciples  of  the  dear  old  Doctor,  in  whom 
we  know  not  what  most  to  admire  :  his  wisdom,  his  wit,  or  his 
character. 


ii  &  in. 

THRALE  PLACE,  Mr.  Henry  Thrale's  country  residence  at 
Streatham,  was  a  large  substantial  mansion  situated  in  an 
open  and  salubrious  suburb  about  six  miles  out  of  London. 
The  house  itself  has  long  since  disappeared,  and  the  once  fine 
estate  is  now  entirely  built  over,  but  the  family  name  is  pre 
served  in  the  tiny  almshouses  established  by  Henry  Thrale 
in  the  High  Street,  and  in  Thrale  Street  which  runs  through 
what  was  once  the  paddock. 


TOPOGRAPHICAL.  xvii 

e/fcr  iv. 

BOLT  COURT  is  situated  not  many  yards  east  of  Gough 
Square.  The  house  in  which  Dr.  Johnson  died  was  taken 
down  many  years  ago  to  make  room  for  a  modern  printing- 
house.  A  tablet  let  into  the  wall  marks  its  location. 


Act  I. 


Characters  in  Act  I. 

Mr.  STEWART. 
Mr.  MA1TLAND. 
Mr.  MACBEAN. 
Mr.  LEVETT. 
Dr.  JOHNSON. 

A    VOICE    (MACPHERSON'S). 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

A  SERVANT  (LORD  CHESTERFIELD'S). 

Mrs.  WILLIAMS. 

FRANK  (DR.  JOHNSON'S  COLORED  SERVANT) 

Mr.  ALLEN. 

Mrs.  WOFFINGTON. 

BET  FLINT. 

POLL   CARMICHAEL. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 


Dr.     '  o  h  n  s 


o  n 


ACT   I. 

We  are  in  London  In  February  1755:  in  a  house  in  Gough  Square  off  Fleet 
Street.  The  attic  in  which  we  find  ourselves,  in  which  we  can  see  and  hear 
without  being)  ourselves,  observed,  is  large  with  the  ceiling  sloping  on  one  side. 
The  sun  shining  obscurely  through  three  windows  suggests  early  dawn,  but 
it  is  almost  noon.  Before  each  window  is  a  small  deal  table;  seated  at  these 
tables  are  three  men,  shabbily  dressed;  one  is  reading,  the  other  two  are 
writing.  On  the  right  a  door  opens  into  a  passage.  On  the  left  a  door  opens 
into  a  bedroom.  In  a  tiny  grate  in  the  corner  a  small  fire  burns,  unwillingly. 
A  screen  in  another  corner  partly  conceals  a  couch  on  which  is  a  man  seem 
ingly  asleep.  A  very  large  deal  table  is  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  in  front  of 
which  is  a  great  armchair,  vacant.  Plain  shelves,  loaded  down  with  books, 
are  on  either  side  of  each  door.  Folio  volumes  are  in  piles  upon  the  floor.  Ex 
treme  poverty  is  suggested  in  every  detail.  Papers  are  strewn  about  in  great 
disorder.  There  is  complete  silence ;  finally  one  man,  having  finished  his  writ 
ing,  sands  it,  sticks  his  quill  behind  his  ear,  gets  up,  stretches  himself,  and 
remarks :  — 

Mr.  STEWART. 
DR.  JOHNSON  is  late  this  morning. 

Mr.  MAITLAND. 
[Putting  down  his  book.]  Dr.  Johnson  is  always  late. 

Mr.  STEWART. 


DR.     JOHNSON. 


Mr.  STEWART. 
Dr.  Johnson  is  later  than  usual. 

Mr.  MAITLAND. 
Dr.  Johnson  is  always  later  than  usual. 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 

[Looking  up  from  his  writing.]  I  suppose  he  feels  that  he  can 
permit  himself  a  little  relaxation  now  that  our  dictionary  is 
completed. 

Mr.  STEWART. 

Our  dictionary!  You  grammatical  outcast;  you  had  very  little 
to  do  with  it.  Dr.  Johnson  only  took  you  on  from  pity.  \After 
a  pause^\  I  feel  that  I  have  never  done  anything  but  copy, 
copy,  copy :  words,  words,  words.  I  'm  not  fit  for  anything 
else. 

Mr.  MAINLAND. 

I  well  remember  the  time  when  Dr.  Johnson  thought  you 
were  not  fit  for  that. 

Mr.  STEWART. 
What  do  you  mean  ? 

Mr.  MAITLAND. 

That  time  when  you  copied  letter  "S  "complete  and  entire  on 
both  sides  of  the  paper  and  it  had  all  to  be  done  over  again. 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 

I  remember,  at  a  cost  of  twenty  pounds.  I  expected  to  see  Dr. 
Johnson  lose  his  temper. 

Mr.  MAITLAND. 


A  C  T       F  I  R  ST.  5 

Mr.  MAINLAND. 

Instead  of  which  he  only  remarked,  Mistakes  will  happen: 
that  which  can  be  remedied  at  the  expenditure  of  a  few 
guineas  cannot  be  regarded  as  serious.  We  must  set  doggedly 
to  work  and  do  it  over  again. 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 

I  am  told  that  the  money  he  was  to  receive  from  the  book 
sellers  has  all  been  spent. 

Mr.  MAINLAND. 

Every  penny  of  it,  —  and  what  we  are  to  do  now  I  can't 
imagine.  Already  I'm  beginning  to  feel  the  pangs  of  hunger. 
I'll  go  and  look  for  food. 


Mr. 

[An  awkward  and  uncouth  old  man^  rising  from  the  couch.]  Did 
I  hear  the  word  "food"? 

Mr.  MAITLAND. 

You  did  ;  and  hearing  about  it  is  as  near  as  you  Jre  likely  to 
come  to  breakfasting  this  morning.  We  eat  every  crumb  in 
the  house  hours  ago. 

Mr.  LEVETT. 

Ah,  well,  I  supped  late  last  night  and  can  fast  till  dinner.  A 
grateful  patient  would  insist  upon  my  keeping  him  company 
till  late,  and  as  my  day's  work  was  done,  I  obliged  him. 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 


6  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 
And  in  that  way  made  sure  of  your  fee,  I  suppose  ? 

Mr.  LETETT. 

I  practise  my  profession  for  the  love  of  it  rather  than  for  six 
pences.  It  makes  little  difference  to  me  whether  I  am  paid  in 
money  or  in  food.  Dr.  Johnson  gives  me  shelter  here,  and  I 
need  little  else. 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 
And  Mrs.  Levett,  what  of  her? 

Mr.  LE7ETT. 

What  of  her!  Sir,  mine  was  not  the  first  unfortunate  alliance. 
Mrs.  Levett  still  makes  her  living  in  the  streets,  as  she  was 
accustomed  to  do  before  I  married  her.  At  present  she  is  in 
a  jail.  I  hear  that  she  is  soon  to  be  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey 
for  picking  pockets.  She  may  be  transported  unless  I  can  per 
suade  Dr.  Johnson  to  speak  for  her  character. 

Mr.  MAINLAND. 

Which  I  have  no  doubt  you  can.  To  be  in  misery  and  dis 
tress  is  to  be  certain  of  Dr.  Johnson's  compassion.  Did  he 
not  testify  as  to  the  character  of  Mr.  Thrale's  tutor — what 
was  that  Italian's  name? 

Mr.  LETETT. 
Baretti;  and  he  committed  murder.  He  stabbed  a  man  in  the 

street. 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 


AcrFiRST.  7 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 
But  under  great  provocation;  in  self-defense. 

\A  street  door  closes  with  a  bang  and  voices  are  heard  outside^ 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[In  a  loud  voice.]  Retract !  Sir,  what  would  you  have  me  re 
tract  ?  I  thought  your  book  an  imposture,  I  think  it  an  impos 
ture  still.  Your  rage  I  defy.  I  hope  I  shall  never  be  deterred 
from  detecting  what  I  think  a  cheat  by  the  menaces  of  a  ruff — 

A  VOICE  (MACPHERSON'S). 
[Outside.]  No  man  shall  call  me  cheat  and  go  unpunished. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Any  violence  offered  me  I  shall  do  my  best  to  repel,  and  what 
I  cannot  do  for  myself,  the  law  shall  do  for  me.  Go,  sir,  and 
tell  your  friends  of  our  quarrel. 

Dr.  JOHNSON,  a  large,  burly  man,  shabbily  dressed,  throws  open 
the  door  and  enters ,  followed  by  JAMES  BOSWELL,  a  young  man 
with  a  tip  tilted  nose,  stylishly  dressed. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
I  am  astonished — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir!  you  may  be  astonished,  but  your  astonishment  will  be  as 
nothing  compared  to  the  amazement  of  that  scoundrel  should 
he  venture  to  attack  me.  I  know  how  to  take  care  of  myself. 
Sam  Foote  once  announced  that  he  would  take  me  off,  as  the 

saying 


8  DR.     JOHNSON. 

saying  goes,  on  the  stage.  I  had  the  story  from  Tom  Davies, 
the  bookseller.  What  is  the  price  of  an  oak  stick,  said  I.  Six 
pence,  said  Tom.  Give  me  leave,  sir,  said  I,  to  send  your  ser 
vant  to  buy  me  a  shilling's  worth,  I  '11  have  double  quantity 
and  be  ready  for  Mr.  Foote's  mimicry,  and  I  give  you  leave 
to  tell  him  so.  Mr.  Foote  took  his  talents  to  another  market. 
Good  morning,  Levett.  Good  morning,  Gentlemen,  our  task 
is  almost  at  an  end;  have  our  last  sheets  gone  to  the  printer? 

Mr.  STEWART. 

Yes,  sir;  Millar's  messenger  carried  the  last  sheet  away  an 
hour  since. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
What  did  he  say?  Did  he  leave  any  message? 

Mr.  STEWART. 
Yes,  sir,  he  said:  "Thank  God  I  have  done  with  him!" 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Smiling  benignly.]  I  am  glad  he  thanks  God  for  anything. 
Gentlemen,  shall  we  make  it  a  holiday?  You  are  excused 
until  next  Monday.  At  the  Cheshire  Cheese,  near  by  in  Fleet 
Street,  there  is  beefsteak  and  kidney  pie — and  a  mug  of 
Mr.  Thrale's  ale.  [Giving  Mr.  Macbean  a  coin.]  Spend  this 
among  you. 

Mr.  MACBEAN. 
Thank  you,  sir. 

Mr.  STEWART. 

And  I  thank  you,  sir;  good  morning,  sir. 

Mr.  MAINLAND. 


ACT       FlRST.  9 

Mr.  M4ITL4ND. 
[Bowing.]  You  are  very  good,  sir.       \¥he  three  leave  the  room. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

You  must  be  relieved  that  the  work  is  finished;  you  did  not 
fully  realize  what  you  were  undertaking  when  you  set  out. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  I  knew  very  well  what  I  was  undertaking  and  very  well 
how  to  go  about  it, — and  have  done  it  very  well, — but  I 
sadly  underestimated  the  time.  It  has  taken  me  eight  years. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

But,  sir,  the  French  Academy,  which  consists  of  forty  mem 
bers,  took  forty  years  to  compile  their  dictionary. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Smiling.]  Then,  sir,  this  is  the  proportion.  Let  me  see,  forty 
times  forty  is  sixteen  hundred;  as  eight  is  to  sixteen  hun 
dred,  so  is  the  proportion  of  an  Englishman  to  a  Frenchman. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
I  hope,  sir,  it  has  made  you  rich. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  I  did  not  work  for  money  but  for  the  honour  of  my  coun 
try,  that  we  might  no  longer  yield  the  palm  of  philology  to 
the  nations  of  the  Continent  without  a  contest.  I  am,  sir,  in 

point 


io  DR.    JOHNSON. 

point  of  fact,  as  poor  as  I  have  ever  been.  I  would  not  say 
poorer,  for  that  would  be  impossible.  Indeed,  only  a  few  days 
ago  I  was  arrested  for  debt. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Is  it  possible? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

It  is  not  unusual  for  an  author  to  be  arrested  for  debt;  but 
the  matter  occasioned  me  little  distress.  Mr.  Richardson  be 
came  my  surety  and  the  matter  was  speedily  adjusted. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

But  the  booksellers !  Surely,  sir,  they  would  not  see  you  in 
want  now  that  you  have  delivered  to  them  so  valuable  a 
property. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  they  have  treated  me  very  well;  they  are  generous,  liberal- 
minded  men,  who  have  done  all  that  they  agreed  to  do.  My 
chief  concern  is  that  I  have  protracted  my  work  till  most  of 
those  I  wished  to  please  have  sunk  into  the  grave.  Success 
and  miscarriage  are  now  but  empty  words.  I  dismiss  the  re 
sult  with  frigid  tranquillity,  having  little  to  fear  from  censure 
or  to  hope  from  praise. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

But  Lord  Chesterfield !  I  am  told  that  he  has  written  a  paper 
to  The  World  in  which  he  praises  your  work  in  excelsis  and 
declares  that  he  makes  a  total  surrender  of  all  his  rights  and 
privileges  in  the  English  language  for  the  term  of  your  dic 
tatorship  ; 


J4MES  BOSWELL 
From  a  Drawing  by  George  Dance 


A  C  T      F  I  R  S  T.  II 

tatorship;  nay  more,  that  he  believes  in  you  as  his  Pope  and 
holds  you  to  be  infallible. 

There  is  a  loud  rap  upon  the  door  which,  before  Dr.  Johnson  can 
reach  it,  is  opened  from  the  outside  and  a  YOUNG  MAN  in  the 
livery  of  Lord  Chesterfield  enters.  He  carries  himself  with  impu 
dence  and  keeps  his  hat  upon  his  head. 

SERVANT. 

I  have  a  letter  from  Lord  Chesterfield  for  Dr.  Johnson; 
there  is  an  answer. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Taking  the  letter  and  twirling  it  in  his  hands  ^  addressing  himself 
slowly  to  Mr.  Boswell.]  If  my  servant  were  here,  I  would  tell 
him  to  inform  that  young  monkey  that  if  he  did  not  remove 
his  hat  I  should  be  under  the  necessity  of  throwing  him  down 
the  staircase;  as  it  is,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  do  so — without 
warning.  \Instantly  the  hat  comes  off  and  the  servant  is  all  polite 
ness] 

SERF  ANT. 

Beg  pardon,  sir;  I'm  very  sorry,  sir;  I  did  not  know  Dr. 
Johnson  was  in  the  room.  Will  you  read  the  letter,  sir? 
There  is  an  answer,  sir. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Opening  the  letter^  reads  aloud.}  Lord  Chesterfield  presents 
his  compliments  to  Dr.  Johnson  and  takes  this  method  of 
informing  him  that  the  dedication  of  the  Dictionary  will  not 

be 


12  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

be  displeasing  to  him,  and  that  he  is  ready  to  show  his  ap 
preciation  in  whatever  manner  will  be  agreeable  to  its  distin 
guished  author. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Very  handsomely  said. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  no,  sir,  it  is  too  late.  I  am  indifferent  as  to  what  he 
may  say  and  unwilling  to  confess  obligation  where  no  benefit 
has  been  received.  I  would  not  have  the  public  believe  that  I 
owe  to  him  that  which  Providence  has  enabled  me  to  do  by 
myself. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Lord  Chesterfield  is  a  very  proud  man,  but  you  are,  I  think, 
the  prouder  man  of  the  two. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Mine,  sir,  is  defensive  pride.  But  enough  of  this.  [To  the 
servant.]  Tell  your  master  that  there  is  no  answer:  that  I  will 
communicate  with  him. 

'  SERP4NT. 
Thank  you,  sir.  [He  goes. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
[To  LEVETT.]  Where  is  Frank? 

Mr.  LETETT. 

He  was  here,  sir,  not  long  since.  He  has,  I  think,  gone  on 
an  errand  for  Mrs.  Williams. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     FIRST.  13 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Ah,  the  dear  lady.  I  hope  she  wants  for  nothing. 

Mr.  LEFETT. 

I  think  not,  sir.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  she  sent  him  for  some 
cat's  meat  for  "Hodge." 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  am  sorry  for  that;  she  should  have  waited  until  my  return: 
I  would  have  gone  for  it.  I  much  dislike  having  a  servant 
wait  upon  an  animal.  Hodge  is  a  good  cat,  but  is — never 
theless —  a  cat. 

Enter  Mrs.  WILLIAMS,  who  is  blind  and  a  trifle  deaf. 

Mrs.  WILLIAMS. 
Did  I  hear  some  one  say  I  was  a  cat? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Not  in  my  hearing,  madam ;  we  were  speaking  of  the  wants 
of  Hodge. 

Mrs.  WILLIAMS.. 

Ah,  yes.  I  sent  Frank  for  some  cat's  meat — he  should  be 
back  by  this  time. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

When  he  comes  will  you  give  him  this  penny?  [Handing  Mrs. 
Williams  a  coin.]  I  would  not  have  him  feel  put  upon,  as  the 

saying  is,  by  going  errands  for  a  cat. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 


14  D  R.       J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

You  do  not,  sir,  always  treat  your  friends  with  so  much  con 
sideration. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

My  friends,  sir,  know  how  to  protect  themselves.  Consider 
ation  for  one's  servants  is  the  hallmark  of  the  gentleman. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  shall  remember  this.  Dr.  Johnson,  have  you  seen  the  epi 
gram  of  Mr.  Garrick  on  your  Dictionary?  It  is  prodigiously 
clever. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  do  not  use  large  words  for  small  matters.  It  is,  I  grant 
you,  complimentary  coming  from  an  old  pupil,  but  Davy  is 
not  much  of  a  poet:  he  is  always  endeavouring  to  shine  out 
of  his  line.  He  should  confine  himself  to  the  stage,  where  he 
has  few  equals  and  no  superiors. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
\  think  the  couplet, 

"And  Johnson,  well  arnfd,  like  a  hero  of  yore 
Has  beat  forty  French,  and  will  beat  forty  more!  " 

excellent. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  you  may  think  it  excellent,  but  that  does  not  make  it  so. 
A  COLORED  SERVANT  enters. 

But  here  comes  my  faithful  servant.  Frank,  I  am  expecting 
a  visit  from  a  French  lady  of  great  distinction;  should  she 

call 


A  C  T       F  I  R  S  T.  15 

call  to-day,  admit  her  with  all  ceremony  :  we  must  not  let  the 
French  outdo  us  in  politeness. 

FRJNK. 
Yes,  master.  [He  bows  and  retires. 


Mr. 

Dr.  Johnson,  may  I  have  a  word  with  you  ?  My  wife  occa 
sions  me  much  concern.  I  have  been  arrested  for  debts  of  her 
contracting,  she  spends  much  of  her  time  in  the  streets,  and 
I  hear  that  she  is  to  be  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey  for  picking 
pockets,  unless,  sir,  you  will  stand  for  her  character. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  !  Sir,  you  amaze  me.  I  have  not  been  without  suspicion  that 
you  have  been  cheated  in  your  wife,  but  this  is  a  matter  in 
which  your  friends  can  be  of  little  service.  I  would  not  be  a 
slave  to  her  caprice.  It  might  be  for  the  best  that  she  should 
be  sent  to  the  Plantations. 

Mr.  LEFETT. 
Sir,  sometimes  I  think  it  would. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

A  man  should  marry  for  virtue,  for  wit,  for  beauty,  or  for 
money.  I  cannot  see  that  you  have  secured  these  or  any  of 
them  by  the  surrender  of  your  independence.  I  suggest  that 
the  law  take  its  course.  You  shall  make  your  home  with  me. 
Mrs.  Williams  shall  look  after  your  wants,  and  Poll  Carmi- 

chael 


l6  D  R.       J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

chael  shall  so  hector  you  that  you  will  think  your  lady  has 

returned. 

Mr.  LEFETT. 

I  have  no  doubt  she  will,  sir.     [Mr.  LEVETT  leaves  the  room. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

He  married  a  streetwalker  who  had  persuaded  him  that  she 
was  nearly  related  to  a  man  of  fortune :  she  regarded  him  as 
a  physician  in  considerable  practice.  The  marvels  of  the  alli 
ance  make  commonplace  the  occurrences  of  the  Arabian 

Nights. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

But,  sir,  who  is  Poll  Carmichael  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  know.  She  is  a  poor  woman  of 
violent  temper  that  I  picked  up  one  night  in  the  street,  des 
perately  ill:  and  I  brought  her  here  on  my  back.  In  short,  sir, 
she  is  a  slut,  but  she  has  no  home  and  I  took  her  in. 

Enter  FRANK. 

FR4NK. 

Dr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Allen  craves  a  dozen  words  with  you,  sir, 
on  a  subject,  he  says,  of  the  greatest  importance. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Tell  him  to  come  up.  [To  Mr.  BoswelL]  Mr.  Allen  is  my 
neighbour  and  landlord,  and  an  excellent  man:  his  dinners, 

too,  are  excellent. 

Enter 


A  C  T       F  I  R  S  T.  17 

Enter  Mr.  ALLEN. 

Mr.  4LLEN. 

Dr.  Johnson,  excuse  my  thus  interrupting  you  in  your  study, 
but  my  friend  Dr.  Dodd,  the  unfortunate  clergyman,  has 
been  sentenced  to  be  hanged  for  forgery.  [Discovering  Mr. 
Boswe/L]  Pardon  me,  sir,  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  en 
gaged. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Mr.  James  Boswell,  Mr.  Allen,  and  a  very  good  friend  of 
mine.  [They  shake  hands^\  Can  I  be  of  any  service  to  your 
friend?  Dr.  Dodd  to  be  hanged!  A  clergyman !  This  is  awful! 

Mr.  4LLEN. 

It  is  thought,  sir,  that  you  can  do  much.  His  friends  would 
petition  the  Lord  Chancellor,  the  King  even,  for  a  pardon  or 
a  commutation  of  the  sentence.  Signatures  can  be  had  by 
thousands. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  do  not  doubt  it.  People  will  put  their  name  to  anything, 
chiefly  for  the  satisfaction  of  showing  that  they  can  write.  But 
what  is  my  part  ?  I  am  expected  to  prepare  the  petition,  I 
suppose? 

Mr.  4LLEN. 
If  you  will  be  so  good. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  must  first  make  myself  acquainted  with  the  facts.  I  would 
not  wish  to  be  known  as  moving  in  the  matter,  but  will  do 

what 


l8  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

what  I  can.  There  has  never  been  a  time  when  the  thought 
of  death  was  not  terrible  to  me. 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 
I,  too,  have  given  much  thought  to  the  subject  of  death. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  let  us  not  discuss  it;  it  matters  not  so  much  how  a  man 
dies  but  how  he  lives. 

Mr.  ^LLEN. 

I  thank  you,  sir,  and  will  go  at  once  to  Dr.  Dodd.  I  have  in 
fluence  with  Mr.  Ackerman,the  keeper  at  Newgate.  I  bid  you 
good  day,  sir.  Mr.  Boswell,  your  very  obedient.  [He goes  out. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Is  Dr.  Dodd  a  friend  of  yours,  sir? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
No,  sir.  I  saw  him  once,  I  think. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Then  why  this  distress  on  his  account? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
He  is  a  human  being:  is  not  that  enough? 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 
He  was,  I  have  heard,  a  very  bad  man. 


Dr.  JOHNSON 


A  C  T      F  I  R  S  T.  19 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  he  may  have  been,  but  the  worst  man  does  more  good 
than  evil :  he  is  a  friend  of  Allen's,  who  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
and  he  is  a  clergyman. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
You  have  many  friends,  sir. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  hope  I  have,  sir;  if  a  man  does  not  make  new  acquaintances 
as  he  advances  through  life,  he  will  soon  find  himself  alone. 
A  man,  sir,  should  keep  his  friendships  in  constant  repair. 

Enter  FRANK. 

FRANK. 
[Announcing  with  a  flourish.]  The  lady  from  France. 

Enter  Mrs.  WOFFINGTON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
My  dear  Peg! 

Mrs.  WOFFINGTON. 

Why  all  this  ceremony?  You  cannot,  sir,  have  been  expect 
ing  to  see  me. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  madam,  but  I  had  an  inkling  of  a  visit  from  Madame 
de  Boufflers,  a  French  lady  of  wit  and  fashion,  and  I  had  in 
structed  my  man  to  be  very  polite,  as  I  would  not  seem  un- 

appreciative 


2O  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

appreciative  of  her  call.  Permit  me,  madam,  to  present  Mr. 
James  Boswell,  a  young  gentleman  just  come  from  Scotland. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Your  very  humble  servant,  madam.  I  only  arrived  yesterday 
and  have  not  yet  had  the  unspeakable  delight  of  seeing  you, 
tho'  your  fame  has  reached  us  in  the  north.  In  what  part  are 
you  now  ravishing  the  town  ? 

Mrs.  WOFFINGTON. 
As  Sir  Harry  Wildair;  sir,  the  town  is  good  enough — 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  join  the  ranks  of  your  adorers,  madam,  and  shall  not  drink 
wine  till  I  have  seen  you. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
But,  madam,  to  what  do  I  owe  the  honour  of  this  call  ? 

Mrs.  WOFFINGTON. 

I  am  almost  ashamed  to  tell  you,  sir,  but  I  heard  that  a  gen 
tleman  was  with  you,  sir,  and  I  thought  he  might  be  Davy,  sir. 
We  have  had  a  quarrel  and  he  has  left  me — and  I  much  fear 
for  Kitty  Fisher. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Oh,  madam,  he  will  return,  or  if  he  does  not,  I- 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Silence,  sir!  I  will  not  have  you  make  an  assignation  in  my 
house.  [To  Mrs.  Wqffington.]  Depend  upon  it,  madam,  Davy 

will 


ACT       FlRST.  21 

will  soon  return ;  when  he  does,  let  me  know  and  I  will  drop 
in  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  you — strong  tea,  madam,  of 
your  making. 

Mrs.  WOFFINGTON. 

You  have  been  such  a  comfort  to  me.  I  could  not,  I  think, 
live  without  Davy.  Gentlemen,  \with  a  low  bow\  I  bid  you 
good  day.  [She  goes  out. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
How  delightful  she  is! 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why  yes,  sir,  one  does  not  commonly  take  the  town  by  storm 
without  uncommon  charm.  But  I  hope  Garrick  has  not  gone 
to  Kitty  Fisher,  else  I  shall  have  another  friend  in  distress. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
And  who  may  that  be? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  from  the  number  of  portraits  he  has  made  of  her,  I 
rather  think  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  is  taken  in  that  quarter. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  assure  you,  sir,  he  would  soon  recover  from  the  blow.  I 
remember  to  have  had  my  heart  broken  twice — within  six 
months — by  the  desertion  of  a  mistress.  Oh,  how  delighted 
I  am  to  be  in  London  again !  I  thought  that  my  coach  would 
never  arrive.  Fleet  Street,  I  think,  never  had  so  animated 

an  appearance. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


22  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

It  has,  sir;  but  the  high  tide  of  human  existence  is,  I  think, 
at  Charing  Cross. 

The  passage  door  opens  very  quietly  and  BET  FLINT,  a  woman 
of  the  town,  enters. 

Bet !  I  am  surprised  to  see  you. 

SET  FLINT. 

I  knew  you  would  be,  sir,  but  I  have  come  to  ask  a  favour 
of  you,  sir:  I  have  written  my  life  in  verse  and  the  publish 
ers  say  it  would  have  a  greater  sale  if  you  were  to  write  an 
introduction  to  it. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  Bet,  no  doubt  it  would,  but  I  can  hardly  do  that. 
What  would  the  newspapers  say?  They  are  always  telling 
lies  about  us  old  fellows.  No,  my  girl,  it  won't  do.  Take 
your  verses  to  some  of  your  admirers,  you  have  enough. 

BET  FLINT. 
Yes,  sir,  surely,  sir,  but  I  wanted  Dr.  Johnson  — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

And  I  would  oblige  you  if  I  could,  but  it  is  impossible.  Run 
along  —  \with  a  smile\  I  was  just  about  to  say,  there's  a  good 
girl.  [He  sees  her  to  the  door.  James  Boswell  seems  to  be  attracted  by 
her.} 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

And  pray,  sir,  who  may  that  be  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     FIRST.  23 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Bet  Flint.  I  am  glad  that  you  do  not  know  her:  she  is 
habitually  a  drunkard  and  a  woman  of  the  town,  occasionally 
a  thief,  needless  to  say  a  woman  of  much  effrontery  —  from 
the  country,  I  think. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

London  draws  all  kinds  to  itself.  Country  girls  come  to  town 
to  conceal  their  shame,  and  men  of  learning  to  meet  their 
match. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

They  do,  sir;  people  who  live  in  the  country  are  fit  for  the 
country.  There  is,  I  think,  within  ten  miles  from  where  we 
are  now  sitting,  more  learning  than  in  all  the  rest  of  England 
—  aye,  and  Scotland,  too,  sir — put  together. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Sir,  that  reminds  me  of  a  question  I  wished  to  ask.  Have 
you  received  any  assistance  from  the  learned  in  the  compi 
lation  of  your  great  Dictionary  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

If  I  may  except  twenty  etymologies,  sent  me  anonymously 
by  a  gentleman  whom  I  afterwards  discovered  to  be  the 
Bishop  of  Rochester,  I  laboured  alone :  not  in  the  soft  ob 
scurities  of  retirement  or  under  the  shelter  of  academic 
bowers,  but  amidst  inconvenience  and  distraction,  in  pov 
erty,  in  sickness,  and  in  sorrow. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 


24  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Yet,  sir, you  shall  have  your  reward:  to  have  grappled  single- 
handed  with  great  libraries;  surely  your  name  will  last  as 
long  as  the  language  you  have  done  so  much  to  perpetuate. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  I  was  a  poet  doomed  at  last  to  awake  a  lexicographer. 
The  unhappy  writer  of  a  dictionary  labours  without  hope  of 
praise,  fortunate  if  he  escapes  reproach,  but  I  am  not  yet  so 
lost  in  lexicography  as  to  forget  that  words  are  the  daughters 
of  earth  and  that  things  are  the  sons  of  heaven. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Lord  Chesterfield  will  be  much  chagrined  if  you  do  not 
dedicate  your  work  to  him. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  after  making  great  professions  he  ignored  me.  It  is  seven 
years  since  I  waited  in  his  outward  rooms,  during  which  time 
I  brought  my  work  to  completion  without  one  act  of  assist 
ance,  one  word  of  encouragement,  or  one  smile  of  favour.  The 
notice  which  he  is  now  pleased  to  take  of  my  labours,  had  it 
been  early,  had  been  kind ;  but  it  has  been  delayed  till  I  am 
indifferent,  and  cannot  enjoy  it;  till  I  am  solitary  and  cannot 
impart  it;  till  I  am  known  and  do  not  want  it.  I  once  thought 
him  a  Lord  among  wits,  but  I  find  he  is  only  a  wit  among 
Lords.  The  chief  glory  of  a  nation  is  its  people,  and  to  them 
I  shall  dedicate  my  work. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 


ACT     FIRST.  25 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Would  it  not  be  curious,  sir,  taking  into  consideration  your 
dislike  of  the  Scotch  and  your  contempt  for  Presbyterians, 
if  a  century  or  so  from  now  the  Oxford  University  Press 
decided  to  bring  out  an  edition  of  your  Dictionary  edited  by 
a  Scotch  Presbyterian? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Savagely.]  To  be  facetious,  sir,  it  is  not  necessary  to  be  in 
decent. 

Enter  POLL  CARMICHAEL. 

What  is  it,  Poll? 

POLL  CARMICHAEL. 

Dr.  Johnson,  I  cannot  well  manage  the  roast  for  we  have  no 
jack. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Do  the  best  you  can  with  a  string,  my  dear.  [To  Boswell.} 
I  have  for  some  time  contemplated  buying  a  jack  because  I 
think  a  jack  is  some  credit  to  a  house.  [She  goes  out. 

Mr.  B'OSWELL. 
Well,  but  you'll  have  a  spit,  too? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  sir,  no ;  that  would  be  superfluous,  for  we  should  never 
use  it;  if  a  jack  is  seen,  a  spit  will  be  presumed. 

Enter 


26  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Enter  FRANK. 

FR4NK. 
Another  lady,  sir,  to  see  you.  She  would  not  give  her  name. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Madame  de  Boufflers,  at  last !  Frank  could  not  manage  the 
name.  Ask  her  to  have  the  kindness  to  ascend.  Quick,  sir, 
take  this  chair  and  be  careful,  it  has  but  three  legs.  My  lady 
from  France  must  have  the  only  sound  chair  in  the  room. 
[Places  a  sound  chair  conspicuously^ 

Enter  Mrs.  THRALE. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

Dr.  Johnson,  Mr.  Boswell,  you  were,  it  appears,  expecting 
me. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Not  you,  madam,  but  a  French  lady  of  distinction,  hence 
these  preparations.  But  you  are  welcome.  Be  seated,  madam ; 
cast  yourself  into  the  arms  of  this  chair  in  all  confidence;  they 
are  sound — as  are  also  its  legs. 

Mrs.   THRALE. 

I  do  not  hesitate  to  accept  your  invitation,  but  I  must  get 
to  business  before  interruption.  I  am  come,  sir,  to  carry  you 
with  me  to  the  country. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
To  the  country,  madam !  Why  should  you  carry  me  to  the 

country? 

Mrs.  THRALE. 


... 


Kmtry  Walktrt  London 


MRS.   THR4LE 
From  a  Drawing  by  George  Dance 


A  C  T       F  I  R  S  T.  27 

Mrs.  THRJLE. 

Change  of  scene  and  change  of  air,  change  of  company  and 
change  of  food.  You  have  been  caged  up  here  with  this  me 
nagerie  of  yours  all  too  long.  Mr.  Thrale  charged  me  not  to 
return  to  Streatham  without  you. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

It  is  most  kind  of  you,  madam,  but  I  cannot  go.  I  have  under 
taken  certain  duties  that  I  would  fain  perform. 

Mrs.  TURTLE. 
Mr.  Boswell  we  could  take  with  us. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Your  most  obedient,  madam.  In  your  company  and  in  Dr. 
Johnson's  I  could  be  happy  on  a  desert  island. 

Mrs.  TURTLE. 

And  Streatham  is  not  a  desert  island.  My  coach  and  four 
awaits  us  in  Fleet  Street.  In  an  hour  you  shall  have  exchanged 
the  bricks  and  mortar  of  London  for  fresh  fields  and  pastures 
new. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

\Correcting  her^\  Fresh  woods  and  pastures  new,  madam.  It 
is  in  "Lycidas,"  but  the  sentiment  does  not  appeal  to  me; 
one  green  field  is  like  another,  and  the  same  may  be  said  of 
a  woods. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

But  surely  you  do  not  enjoy  the  sordid  sights  and  stenches 

of  the  town? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


28  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Not  all  the  sights  of  London  are  sordid,  many  are  magnifi 
cent;  and  as  for  its  smells  —  [blowing  hard]  pooh  ! 


Mrs.  THR^LE. 

We  have  a  fine  library  at  Streatham.  I  have  just  received  a 
parcel  of  new  books  as  to  which  I  want  your  opinion,  and 
Mr.  Thrale  will,  I  am  sure,  wish  to  discuss  with  you  the 
merits  of  a  dish  of  lampreys  he  has  just  received  from  Scot 
land;  our  strawberries  grown  under  glass  are  just  coming  in; 
fancy !  strawberries  and  clotted  cream  so  early  in  the  season 
— and  in  profusion,  too! 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Madam,  you  would  shake  the  resolution  of  a  much  stronger 
man  than  I  am.  But  only  a  moment  ago  Poll  Carmichael  was 
here  telling  me  of  a  roast  that  we  were  to  have  for  dinner, 
and  Mrs.  Williams  and  Desmoulins  and  Levett.Theyall  hate 
one  another;  I  alone  can  order  sufficient  tranquillity  to  enable 
every  member  of  my  menagerie,  as  you  call  it,  to  eat  their 
dinner  in  peace:  it  was  to  be  a  dinner  in  honour  of  the  com 
pletion  of  my  Dictionary. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

You  may  argue,  sir,  but  I  will  not  be  denied.  Let  me  reason 
with  Mrs.  Williams,  the  only  one  of  your  family  group  sus 
ceptible  to  reason.  She  will  admit  that  now  your  great  book 
is  finished  you  should  allow  yourself  a  little  relaxation.  And 

consider, 


A  C  T       F  I  R  S  T.  29 

consider,  sir,  the  fewer  the  mouths,  the  greater  the  quantity 
of  food  to  go  into  them.  What  you  do  not  eat  will,  no  doubt, 
be  cheerfully  consumed  by  the  hungry-looking  individual  I 
passed  upon  the  staircase. 

Dr.   JOHNSON. 

I  had  thought  to  have  dined  at  home,  and  there  is  the  pos 
sibility  of  a  charming  woman  from  France — 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Let  no  possibility  of  a  charming  woman  from  France  keep 
you  from  enjoying  the  actuality  of  a  [with  a  curtsy]  charming 
woman  from  Wales.  And  there  is  a  good  dinner  to  be  eaten ; 
although  I  lead  the  life  of  a  kept  woman,  I  am  not  altogether 
deprived  of  the  confidence  of  our  cook,  and  before  I  left  home 
this  morning  I  swore  not  only  that  I  would  be  home  in  time 
for  it,  but  that  I  would  fetch  with  me  the  Great  Lexicogra 
pher.  Preparations  are  now  going  forward ;  in  imagination  I 
smell  a  turtle  soup, — and  the  lampreys  are  fresh  from  Scot 
land,  there  is  a  saddle  of  lamb,  fresh  peas,  and  sparrowgrass, 
and  veal  pie  with  raisins  in  it  — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Enough,  madam,  enough,  a  feast  for  Lucullus. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

—  A  tender  ham,  and  the  glass  houses  of  Streatham  are  fa 
mous  for  their  fruits.  It  is  too  early  for  walled  fruit,  but 
the  fragrance  of  the  pineapples  is  delicious,  and  the  oranges 

were 


30  DR.     JOHNSON. 

were  superb  when  I  last  saw  them.  Mr.  Thrale  drinks  wine 
and  perhaps  you  can  be  tempted  to  keep  him  company,  or 
should  you  prefer  it,  join  me  in  lemonade. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

My  resolution  is  like  snow  in  the  sun.  It  is  a  dinner  to  ask 
a  man  to.  Some  people  pretend  not  to  mind  what  they  eat: 
for  my  part  I  mind  my  belly  very  studiously;  he  who  does 
not  will  hardly  mind  anything  else.  Mr.  Boswell  will  excuse 
me,  I  am  sure.  [In  a  loud  voice.}  Frank,  a  clean  shirt!  I'm  for 
the  country! 

Enter  FRANK. 

FR4NK. 
[Bowing  and  smiling.]  Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir. 


Act  II. 


Characters  in  Act  II. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

JUDSON. 

RATTLE. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Mr.  MURPHY. 

Sir  JOSHUA   REYNOLDS 

Mr.  GARRICK. 

Mrs.  GARRICK. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Mr.  THRALE. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

General    PAOLI. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Miss  MORE. 

Mr.  PIOZZI. 

Mrs.  CARTER. 

Miss  STREATFIELD. 

Mrs.  DELANEY. 

Mr.  BARETTI. 


ACT    II. 

The  drawing-room  at  Streatham,  a  large  country  house  a  few  miles  from 
London.  Upon  the  walls  are  fine  portraits,  of  Dr.  Johnson,  Henry  and 
Mrs.  Thrale,  Fanny  Burney,  Garrick,  Goldsmith,  and  others,  from  the 
brush  of  Reynolds.  Windows  to  the  floor  open  upon  a  park  of  'great  beauty ; 
under  the  trees  deer  may  be  seen.  It  is  afternoon.  Double  doors,  closed,  to  the 
left  open  into  a  large  dining-room;  double  doors  to  the  right,  open,  reveal  a 
large  comfortably  furnished  hall.  Everything  suggests  comfort  rather  than 
magnificence,  although  evidences  of  wealth  are  not  lacking.  There  is  a  large 
table  filled  with  books,  comfortable  chairs  abound,  tall  vases  are  filled  with 
flowers,  heavy  silver  candlesticks  are  conveniently  placed ;  from  the  ceiling 
are  suspended  two  large  crystal  lustres  containing  innumerable  wax  candles. 
Some  years  have  passed  since  Dr.  Johnson  first  visited  the  Thrales,  with 
whom  he  now  spends  most  of  his  time,  although  he  still  maintains  lodgings  in 
London.  Mrs.  THRALE  enters  followed  by  JUDSON,  a  footman,  to  inspect  the 
room,  for  a  formal  dinner  party  will  soon  he  in  progress. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

JUDSON,  see  that  Dr.  Johnson  is  presentable  when  he  comes 
down,  that  he  wears  his  best  suit,  his  shoes  with  silver  buckles, 
and  his  new  wig.  Be  particular  about  the  wig,  his  old  one  is 
so  singed  from  the  candles  that  it  must  be  discarded;  lose  it, 
forever,  somewhere. 

JUDSON. 
Yes,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Mr.  Thrale  has  ordered  the  wine?  What  have  we? 

JUDSON. 


34  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

JUDSON. 
Hock,  claret,  port,  and  brandy,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Have  vast  quantities  of  tea  and  lemonade  also,  for  Dr.  John 
son. 

JUDSON. 
Yes,  ma'am. 

Mrs.  THRJLE. 
Send  Rattle  to  me. 

JUDSON. 
Yes,  ma'am.  [He  goes  out. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

[Giving  a  tug  at  a  great  bunch  of  roses.  To  herself.]  Who  could 
have  supposed  that  I,  the  wife  of  a  rich  brewer,  would  be 
entertaining  at  dinner  the  most  distinguished  company  in 
London  ? 

Enter  RATTLE. 

R4TTLE. 
You  sent  for  me,  ma'am? 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

See  if  Miss  Burney  wants  anything  and  tell  her  I  await  her 
in  the  drawing-room;  then  tell  Miss  Streatfield  where  I  am. 
['To  herself \]  She  shall  shed  tears  for  us  after  dinner;  it  will 
amuse  Mr.  Thrale,  who  is  in  low  spirits. 

RATTLE. 

Yes,  ma'am.  [She  goes  out. 

Mrs.  TURTLE. 


ACT     SECOND.  35 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

[Taking  up  a  book,  which  she  discards  as  Miss  BURNEY  enters.] 
Oh,  there  you  are,  I  have  been  awaiting  you  this  hour  or  more. 
What  a  pretty  frock!  Dr.  Johnson  will  be  pleased.  He  al 
ways  notices  what  ladies  wear  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  is 
almost  blind.  He  once  said  to  me,  Why  are  you  dressed  in 
that  evil-looking  gown?  go  to  your  room  and  change  it. 
Women,  like  butterflies,  should  always  wear  gay  colours. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Oh,  if  Dr.  Johnson  should  speak  so  to  me,  I  would  swoon. 
Ten  to  one  he  will  not  know  I  am  in  the  room. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Wait  and  see,  my  dear.  Dr.  Johnson  is  eager  to  make  the  ac 
quaintance  of  the  author  of  Evelina. 

Miss  BURNEY. 
I  hope  the  room  may  be  crowded  when  he  enters,  that  I  may 

escape  unnoticed. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Dr.  Johnson  would  be  here  now  if  he  suspected  you  were  in 
the  room:  he  is  always  the  first  at  any  function. 

Footman  announces  Mr.  MURPHY,  who  enters. 
Oh,  Mr.  Murphy,  so  pleased. 


Mr.  MURPHY. 
Your  servant,  madam.  [Steps  to  one  side] 


Footman 


36  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Footman  announces  Sir  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS,  who  enters,  carrying 
an  ear  trumpet. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Oh,  dear  Sir  Joshua,  how  good  of  you!  But  you  come,  I  am 
sure,  not  so  much  to  see  us  as  to  see  Miss  Burney  here,  the 
author  of  Evelina. 

Sir  JOSHU4. 

[Bowing  and  shaking  hands.}  Is  she  here?  The  prodigy!  I  laid 
ten  guineas  that  the  author  was  a  man  about  town  of  my  ac 
quaintance,  and  now  it  turns  out  the  book  which  is  the  talk 
of  all  London  was  written  by  the  daughter  of  my  old  friend 
and  present  neighbour,  Dr.  Burney.  We  live  in  amazing  times. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Let  me  present  you.  Come,  my  dear  Miss  Burney,  and  meet 
two  admirers :  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  has  known  you  all 
of  your  young  life,  and  Mr.  Murphy,  who  no  doubt  will  soon 
be  teasing  you  to  join  him  in  writing  a  comedy.  He  says  such 
wit  and  such  power  of  observation  as  you  display  cannot  fail 
to  take  the  town  by  storm.  He  is  already  revolving  in  his 
mind  a  plot. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Oh,  madam,  oh,  sir,  do  not  mention  it,  I  beg  of  you.  My 
father  is  greatly  shocked  that  I  should  have  written  a  novel : 
judge  of  his  feelings  should  he  hear  that  I,  whose  knowledge 
of  the  world  is  chiefly  gathered  from  conversations  overheard 
in  our  drawing-room,  was  engaged  upon  a  comedy. 

Footman 


ACT     SECOND.  37 

Footman  announces  Mr.  and  Mrs.  GARRICK. 

Mr.  GARRICK. 

[Rather  stiltedly,  "'Twas  only  when  off  the  stage  he  was  acting."] 
Madam,  your  most  obedient. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

So  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Garrick,  and  Mrs.  Garrick,  too  - 
So  very  pleased.  [They  shake  hands.}  I  hope  you  did  not  find 
the  journey  from  town  tedious.  The  roads  are  so  dusty  at  this 
season.  I  was  saying  to  Dr.  Johnson  only  an  hour  ago— 

Footman  announces  Dr.  JOHNSON,  who  at  once  goes  up  to  Mr. 
Garrick. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Well,  Davy,  in  what  are  you  exhibiting  yourself  now? 

Mr.  GJRRICK. 

[Somewhat  nettled^  Sir,  I  am  playing,  and  I  may  say  with 
some  success,  Richard  the  Third. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Laughing  vociferously.]  The  fellow  claps  a  hump  on  his  back 
and  a  lump  on  his  leg,  and  cries, "I  am  Richard  the  Third." 
It  won't  do,  Davy,  it  won't  do. 

Mr.  G4RRICK. 
I  beg  to  assure  you,  sir,  it  will  do  very  well;  the  house  is 

crowded  every  night. 

J       &  Dr.  JOHNSON. 


38  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Nay,  sir.  A  crowded  house  means  nothing.  People  will  crowd 
a  house  to  see  a  dog  walking  on  its  hind  legs.  \PFalks  away.] 

Mr.  THR4LE. 

\Who  has  entered  the  drawing-room  unobserved.]  Mr.  Garrick, 
in  the  words  of  Jonson,  Ben,  not  Sam: — 

"  To-night,  good  sir,  both  my  poor  house  and  I 
Do  equally  desire  your  company ; 
Not  that  we  think  us  worthy  such  a  guest, 
But  that  your  worth  will  dignify  our  feast '." 

You  must  forgive  Dr.  Johnson  his  rudeness,  which  is  indeed 
only  a  cloak  for  his  regard;  he  will  permit  no  one  to  abuse  you 
but  himself. 

Mr.   G4RRICK. 

So  I  have  often  been  told.  I  was  once  his  pupil;  we  came  to 
London  together,  penniless.  I  gave  the  town  what  it  wanted : 
he,  what  it  deserved.  I  have  had  applause;  he,  "toil,  envy, 
want,  the  garret  and  the  jail."  But,  sir,  Dr.  Goldsmith  has 
said  the  last  word  concerning  him.  There  is  nothing  of  the 
bear  about  him  but  its  skin. 

Mr.   THR4LE. 
I  would  add,  its  claws  also,  but  I  am  taming  him. 

Footman  announces  Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

I  am  glad  to  see  you;  we  were  just  speaking  of  you.  \They 

shake  hands.] 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 


OLIVER    GOLDSMITH 

From  a  Sketch  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 


ACT     SECOND.  39 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

Nothing  to  my  disadvantage,  I  hope;  certainly  my  apparel 
is  beyond  criticism.  I  have  just  had  this  suit  from  my  tailor. 
You  will  agree,  I  think,  that  this  plum  colour  is  most  unusual, 
most  becoming. 

Mr.  G4RRICK. 
It  is  unusual,  certainly.  Where  did  you  get  it? 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

From  John  Filby  at  the  Sign  of  the  Harrow  in  Water  Lane. 
I  promised  to  mention  it.  I  think  he  would  be  much  hon 
oured  if  you  would  call  upon  him. 

Mr.  GJRRICK. 

I  am  quite  sure  of  it.  But  you  have  the  advantage  of  me  in 
figure;  your  fine  form  sets  off  Mr.  Filby's  clothes  to  great 
advantage. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

Just  what  I  observed  to  Filby.  I  am  glad  that  we  agree,  - 
great  minds, — you  take  me,  sir!  But  there  is  Dr.  Johnson. 
I  must  show  myself  to  him. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Ah!  Goldy,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  The  play  still  goes  well,  I 
hear,  and  it  deserves  to;  no  comedy  in  many  years  has  so 
much  exhilarated  an  audience ;  has  so  well  answered  the  end 
of  comedy — that  of  making  an  audience  merry.  I  am,  sir, 
much  honoured  by  the  dedication. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 


40  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

Sir,  it  does  me  honour  to  inform  the  public  that  I  have  lived 
for  many  years  in  intimacy  with  you.  I  meant  not  so  much 
to  compliment  you  as  myself. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Very  handsomely  said ;  but  here  we  are  bandying  words  with 
one  another  when  we  should  be  paying  compliments  to  a 
young  lady  who  has  just  begun  to  browse  upon  the  literary  com 
mon.  You  have  met  the  daughter  of  my  friend,  Dr.  Burney  ? 
Fanny,  a  shy  little  dunce  we  thought  her.  Sir,  she  has  written 
an  excellent  novel  of  London  life  and  character.  I  never  read 
a  better. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

That  is  praise  indeed,  and  curiously  enough  a  day  or  two  ago 
when  I  met  Sir  Joshua  he  told  me  of  a  novel  he  had  just 
been  reading,  a  novel  published  anonymously  by  Lowndes, 
and  which  he  said  so  intrigued  him  that  he  would  give  ten 
pounds  to  know  the  name  of  the  author. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
We  are  speaking  of  the  same  book,  Evelina. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

But,  sir,  how  can  that  be?  He  called  on  Lowndes  and  was 
informed  that  the  book  in  question  was  written  by  a  gentle 
man  at  the  other  end  of  the  town. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
As  Lowndes  had  every  reason  to  suppose.  But  I  assure  you 

Evelina 


ACT     SECOND.  4.1 

Evelina  was  written  by  Fanny  Burney,  my  little  Burney,  she 
confessed  to  it  not  ten  minutes  since. 

Dr.   GOLDSMITH. 
You  must  present  me.  I  think  I  do  not  know  the  young 

lady. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

With  pleasure,  sir.  Direct  your  steps  to  the  sofa  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room.  I  left  her  there  in  the  company  of  Mrs. 
Garrick.  [They  approach  Miss  Burney.}  The  best  dramatist  and 
the  best  novelist  of  the  age  should  be  acquainted.  Dr.  Gold 
smith,  Miss  Burney,  the  daughter  of  my  old  friend. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Oh,  sir,  this  is  the  most  consequential  day  of  my  life :  to  have 
Dr.  Johnson  mention  me  in  the  same  breath  with  the  author 
of  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.  I  wish  that  I  might  rise  to  the  occa 
sion,  but  my  legs  are  all  of  a  flutter.  I  do  not  deserve  this 

honour. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Don't  say  so,  my  dear — the  public  to  whom  we  authors  make 
appeal  has  agreed  that  you  are  certainly  wittier  and  probably 
wiser  than  the  generality  of  your  sex :  rest  satisfied  with  its 
opinion,  it  seldom  errs. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

And  a  public  which  includes  Dr.  Johnson,  Sir  Joshua,  and 
Mr.  Burke  among  the  men,  and  Mrs.  Montagu,  Elizabeth 
Carter,  and  Miss  More  among  the  women  can  hardly  be  in 

error. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


42  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  no,  madam,  it  would  seem  not,  but  our  Fanny  must 
be  prepared  to  bear  with  a  little  abuse  by  and  by:  she  will 
not  always  be  surrounded  by  her  friends  who  love  and  flatter 
her.  I  would  prepare  her  if  I  could  to  meet  the  world — 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

By  what  means,  sir?  By  flattery?  My  praise  is  a  mere  twitter 
compared  with  yours.  Do  you  not  agree,  Dr.  Goldsmith? 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

]JVho  has  been  looking  at  himself  in  a  mirror  and  has  heard  noth 
ing  of  the  conversation^  I  certainly  do,  madam.  Burning  to  Dr. 
Johnson]  I  am  glad  to  see  that  Mr.  Garrick  is  able  to  be  out 
again,  but  do  you  not  think,  sir,  that  he  is  aging? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why  no,  sir;  you  must  remember  that  Garrick's  face  has  had 
more  wear  and  tear  than  any  other  man's,  it  is  never  at  rest; 
such  an  eternal,  restless,  fatiguing  play  of  the  muscles  must 
certainly  wear  out  a  man's  face  before  its  real  time.  Burney, 
my  dear,  I  think  I  shall  take  a  seat  by  your  side. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

I  must  speak  to  my  host.  He  seems  for  the  moment  to  be  at 
leisure.  Mr.  Thrale,  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir. 

Mr.  THR4LE. 

Indifferent  well;  we  men  of  affairs  have  much  to  contend 
with  which  you  literary  fellows  know  nothing  of. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 


ACT     SECOND.  43 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

And  we  literary  fellows  have  little  with  which  to  contend 
with  the  world;  but,  sir,  I  see  admiration  in  your  glance.  This 
suit  from  Filby,  John  Filby  at  the  Harrow  in  Water  Lane. 
Mr.  Garrick  has  just  observed  that  it  sets  off  my  figure  to 
great  advantage. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

[Coming  up  and  overhearing  the  conversation^  And  I  'm  sure  no 
one  has  greater  taste  in  dress  than  Mr.  Garrick. 

Mr.  GARRICK. 
Do  I  hear  my  name? 

Mrs.  TURTLE. 

You  do,  Mr.  Garrick:  I  was  just  observing  to  Mr.  Goldsmith 
that  no  one  had  ever  played  such  a  great  variety  of  charac 
ters  as  yourself:  that  you  excelled  equally  in  comedy  and  in 
tragedy. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

Although  I  have  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  suc 
cess  of  my  comedy,  I  am  bitterly  disappointed  that  Mr.  Gar 
rick  could  not  see  his  way  clear  to  the  part  of  Tony  Lump- 
kin. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Joining  the  party.]  Do  you  remember,  sir,  when  we  were  all 
in  labour  for  a  title  for  the  play  ?  And  how  I  suggested  The 
Mistakes  of  a  Night  while  you  were  insisting  upon  She  Stoops 

to  Conquer? 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 


44  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

Yes,  and  for  once  I  neglected  to  take  your  advice  without 
living  to  regret  it. 


Footman  announces  General  PAOLI  and  Mr.  BOSWELL.  A  large 
fine-looking  man  of  distinguished  bearing  and  Mr.  BOSWELL 
enter.  Mrs.  fhrale  welcomes  the  first  effusively ',  and  the  latter 
with  some  reserve. 

Mrs.   TURTLE. 

General,  we  are  much  honoured.  Mr.  Boswell,  you  see  your 
hero  with  Dr.  Goldsmith.  Dr.  Johnson  has  just  been  saying 
that  if  the  selection  of  his  biographer  were  left  to  him,  he 
would  undoubtedly  select  Dr.  Goldsmith;  that  he  has  put  his 
hand  to  every  form  of  composition  and  has  equally  adorned 
them  all. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

[Somewhat  nettled.]  Except  the  biographical,  madam;  it  is  my 
set  purpose  to  write  the  life  of  my  revered  friend.  When  it 
appears — and  I  hope  that  may  not  be  for  twenty  years  —  it 
will  be  found  to  be  the  greatest  biography  that  has  ever  been 
written.  Have  I  not  the  greatest  subject?  I  mean  not  only  to 
give  a  history  of  Dr.  Johnson's  visible  progress  through  the 
world,  but  a  view  of  his  mind  —  so  far  as  it  is  within  my 
power  to  do  so. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

No  doubt  you  will  take  his  life  with  all  skill ;  but  here  comes 
the  great  man,  let  us  not  appear  to  be  talking  about  him. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 


GENERAL   PAOLl 
from  a  Drawing  by  George  Dance 


ACT     SECOND.  45 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Good  evening,  Dr.  Johnson,  I  hope  I  see  you  well  after  our 
dissipation  of  last  night.  I  confess  my  head  ached  very  con 
siderably  this  morning. 

Dr.   JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  I  am  not  surprised  to  hear  it.  I  have  no  objection 
to  a  man's  drinking  wine  if  he  can  do  it  in  moderation.  I  can 
not  drink  in  moderation,  therefore  I  never  touch  it.  But,  sir, 
it  was  not  the  wine  that  made  your  head  ache  but  the  sense 
that  I  put  into  it. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

[Thinking  he  has  him.]  Why,  Dr.  Johnson,  does  sense  make 
the  head  ache? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Yes,  sir,  when  the  head  is  not  used  to  it. 

General  PAQLl. 

[Coming  up  and  very  respectfully  saluting  Dr.  Johnson^  Dr.  John 
son,  you  are,  I  presume,  inculcating  lessons  of  sobriety  and 
decorum  upon  our  young  friend  here. 

Dr.  JOHNSO.N. 

Why,  sir,  I  am  always  doing  so :  with  what  effect  you  may 
judge. 

Mr.   BOSWELL. 
But,  sir,  much  may  be  said  in  favour  of  drinking:  in  vino  veri- 

tas,  you  know. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


46  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  do.  But  I  would  not  keep  company  with  a  man  who  lies 
when  he  is  sober  and  whom  you  must  make  drunk  before  you 
can  get  a  word  of  truth  out  of  him.  Drinking  should  be  prac 
tised  with  great  prudence:  a  man  who  exposes  himself  when 
he  is  intoxicated  has  not  the  art  of  getting  drunk. 

General  PAQLI. 

Dr.  Johnson,  you  would,  I  am  sure,  recommend  claret;  one 
can  drink  a  deal  of  claret  without  inconvenience. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why  no,  sir,  it  is  poor  stuff:  one  can  be  drowned  with  claret 
before  one  feels  the  effect  of  it.  Claret  is  the  liquor  for  boys, 
port  for  men,  and  brandy  for  heroes.  \With  a  bow]  You,  Gen 
eral,  would  naturally  drink  brandy.  Indeed, brandy  will  soon 
est  do  for  a  man  what  drinking  can  do  for  him. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

[Standing  between  Paoli  and  Johnson^  I  feel,  gentlemen,  like 
an  isthmus  uniting  two  great  continents. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Which  means,  I  take  it,  that  your  narrowness  is  apparent  and 
your  depth  concealed.  But  there  is  Garrick,  I  said  something 
a  few  minutes  ago  which  nettled  him.  I  must  go  and  make 
it  up  with  him.  [talking  up  to  him.]  Are  you  at  your  villa  at 
Hampton  ?  A  charming  place.  When  is  your  good  lady  going 
to  ask  me  to  drink  a  dish  of  tea  with  her  ? 

Mr.  G4RRICK. 


ACT     SECOND.  4.7 

Mr.  GJRRICK. 

I  am  sure  that  she  will  be  honoured  at  your  mentioning  it,  and 
I  hope  when  you  are  next  in  the  vicinity  of  Drury  Lane  you 
will  look  in  on  me  in  the  greenroom. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  Davy,  I  '11  come  no  more  behind  your  scenes;  the  silk 
stockings  and  white  bosoms  of  your  actresses  excite  my  am 
orous  propensities. 

Footman  announces  Miss  HANNAH  MORE,*?  slightly  deaf  old  lady. 
Mrs.  Thrale  comes  forward  to  receive  her. 

Mrs.  THR^LE. 
So  very  pleased;  you  did  not  come  alone? 

Miss  MORE. 

No,  I  came  with  dear  Mrs.  Delaney,  who  seeks  a  few  mo 
ments'  repose  after  the  fatigue  of  the  journey. 

Mrs.  THRJLE. 
Which  was  without  incident,  I  hope  ? 

Miss  MORE. 

Quite. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

['Talking  to  Mr.  Garrick.}  I  found  him  an  insufferable  prig. 

Miss  MORE. 


4.8  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Miss  MORE. 
[Overhearing  Dr.  Johnson's  remark.]  Did  you  say  he  was  a 

Whig? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  madam,  I  said  he  was  a  prig,  but  indeed  he  is  both,  prig 

and  Whig. 

Mr.  GARRICK. 

I,  too,  am  a  Whig.  I  wonder  why  you  do  not  make  me  a 
Tory;  you  love  to  make  people  Tories. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Drawing  some  copper  coins  from  his  pocket]  For  the  same  reason 
that  the  King  did  not  make  these  pence  guineas:  not  the 
proper  metal,  sir.  [Mr.  Garrick  walks  away  in  high  dudgeon. 
Dr.  Johnson  turns  to  Mr.  Boswell.}  Now  I  have  offended  him 
again,  yet  I  love  him.  A  game  of  jokes  is  composed  partly  of 
skill,  partly  of  chance.  A  man  may  be  beat  at  times  by  one  who 
has  not  a  tenth  part  of  his  wit.  Davy  is  the  first  man  in  Lon 
don  for  sprightly  conversation. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

And  yet  I  have  heard  you  abuse  him.  You  were  telling  me 
only  the  other  day  of  his  having  refused  you  an  order  for  the 
play  to  the  value  of  three  shillings. 

Dr.   JOHNSON. 

\With  a  stern  look.]  Sir,  I  have  known  David  Garrick  longer 
than  you  have,  and  I  know  no  right  you  have  to  talk  to  me 
on  the  subject.  Garrick  was  very  poor  when  he  began  life, 

and 


ACT     SECOND.  49 

and  so  when  he  came  to  have  money  he  probably  was  unskill 
ful  in  giving  it  away  and  saved  when  he  should  not,  but  I 
know  that  he  has  given  away  more  money  than  any  man  in 
England — that  I  am  acquainted  with. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

And  he  has  a  very  pretty  talent  for  poetry.  Do  you  remem 
ber  his  song  in  "  Florizel  and  Perdita"  ?  "I  'd  smile  with  the 
simple  and  feed  with  the  poor." 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Nay,  my  dear  lady,  that  will  never  do.  Poor  Davy!  "Smile 
with  the  simple" — what  folly  is  this!  And  who  would  "feed 
with  the  poor"  that  can  help  it?  No,  no,  let  me  smile  with 
the  wise  and  feed  with  the  rich  —  as  I  shall  shortly  be  doing. 
Life  here,  madam,  is  as  near  felicity  as  life  may  be  expected  to 
be.  But  where  is  little  Burney  ?  We  are  neglecting  her  shame 
fully. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Over  on  the  sofa  yonder  in  the  company  of  Sir  Joshua  Rey 
nolds. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

She  could  not  possibly  be  in  better.  He  has  known  her  for 
many  years  without  in  the  least  suspecting  she  was  a  genius; 
the  little  hussy.  I  must  sit  by  her  at  dinner. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 
So  you  shall,  but  will  not  her  head  be  turned  with  all  this 

flattery  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


50  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  no,  madam,  the  established  wits  will  keep  her  in  her 
place.  It  will  be  difficult  for  her  to  maintain  herself  in  conver 
sation,  for  observation  rather  than  retort  is  her  forte.  She  will 
need  all  her  friends.  When  one  bursts  unheralded  on  the 
town,  the  town  feels  cheated  of  watching  an  ascent.  [They  ap 
proach  Miss  Burney,  who  is  talking  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  through 
his  ear  trumpet.] 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Yes,  sir,  I  sold  the  manuscript  to  Mr.  Lowndes  for  twenty 
guineas  and  thought  I  had  done  excellently  well  for  myself. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 

Twenty  guineas !  My  dear  young  lady,  the  book  was  worth  a 
hundred,  but  one  has  to  make  a  beginning.  I  sat  up  all  night 
reading  it  and  had  to  deny  myself  to  some  sitters  the  next 
day.  I  shall  recommend  it  to  all  my  friends,  and  make  it  un 
fashionable  not  to  have  read  it.  [Dr.  Johnson  comes  up.~\  We 
were  talking  of  Evelina. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

The  subject  is  inexhaustible.  I  am  to  sit  next  to  Miss  Bur- 
ney  at  dinner;  I  shall  be  very  proud. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 

We  shall  have  to  be  very  careful  or  she  may  put  us  into  her 
next  book:  her  power  of  observation  is  so  remarkable  —  her 
portraits  would  be  unmistakable. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     SECOND.  51 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
She  would  not  dare  burlesque  her  friends. 

Miss  MORE. 

[Joining  the  party.}  Oh,  I  'm  sure  she  would  not.  Consider,  Dr. 
Johnson,  the  respect  we  have  for  you,  it  amounts  almost  to 
a  feeling  of  awe.  Peers  obey  your  nod,  and  I  am  told  that 
Duchesses  hang  upon  your  words,  that  your  company  is  more 
sought  than  that  of  any  man  in  London. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Stop !  madam,  stop !  Consider  what  your  flattery  is  worth  be 
fore  you  choke  me  to  death  with  it.  [More  kindly.]  You  are 
permitted  to  say  some  things  behind  a  man's  back  that  you 
would  not  say  to  his  face. 

Miss  MORE. 

I  heard  Bishop  Percy  say  at  Chesterfield  House  that  you 
could  by  giving  a  sign  make  or  break  a  literary  reputation. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Madam,  I  take  refuge  in  incredulity. 

Miss  MORE. 

I  am  so  sorry  that  I  never  saw  your  play,  Irene ;  I  have  read 
that  it  was  the  finest  tragedy  of  modern  times. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

You  have  not  read  that  statement  in  a  bound  book,  madam. 

Miss  MORE. 


52  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Miss  MORE. 
It  was  written  by  one  Pott. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Madam,  if  one  Pott  says  so,  Pott  lies.  [Walks  away  as  James 
Bo  swell  comes  up.] 

Miss  MORE. 

Mr.  Boswell,  I  understand  that  you  are  collecting  material  to 
write  the  life  of  our  revered  friend ;  I  trust  it  may  be  many 
years  before  you  do  so,  but  should  the  time  come,  you  will, 
I  hope,  mitigate  somewhat  the  asperities  of  his  disposition. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Madam,  I  shall  not  cut  his  claws  or  make  my  tiger  a  cat  to 
please  anybody.  I  may  ask  Miss  Burney  here  to  give  me 
some  anecdotes  as  she  sees  the  great  dictionary-maker  in 
deshabille,  as  it  were.  I  know  Dr.  Johnson,  the  lexicogra 
pher,  the  philosopher  and  moralist,  but  you  know  Johnson, 
the  ladies'  man — a  side  that  is  hidden  from  me. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

And  if  I  do,  Mr.  Boswell,  I  shall  impart  my  knowledge  to 
my  only  confidant — my  journal. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  am  not  to  be  balked  of  my  purpose  of  making  a  well- 
rounded  portrait,  to  which  end  I  shall  apply  to  Mrs. 
Thrale.  [Addressing  himself  to  that  lady.}  Ah,  madam,  have 

you 


ACT     SECOND.  53 

you  not  repeatedly  heard  Dr.  Johnson  say  that  if  he  had  no 
duties,  he  would  spend  his  life  driving  briskly  in  a  postchaise 
with  a  pretty  woman  ? 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

I  have  never  heard  Dr.  Johnson  say  any  one  thing  repeat 
edly,  he  has  too  fertile  a  mind  for  that;  but  I  have  heard 
him  utter  the  sentiment  you  refer  to,  adding,  but  she  should 
be  one  who  could  understand  me  and  add  something  to  the 
pleasure  of  conversation. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  have  upon  occasions  visited  the  greenrooms  with  him  and 
the  actresses  invariably  make  much  of  him;  Mrs.  Abington 
positively  flirted  with  him,  and  we  all  know  how  partial  he 
is  to  Kitty  Clive. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Certainly;  I  have  heard  him  declare  that  she  was  a  better  romp 
than  ever  he  saw  in  nature. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

And  he  is  not  without  experience.  When  we  were  on  our 
journey  to  the  Hebrides,  a  lively  pretty  young  woman,  hear 
ing  that  he  was  come  from  London,  peeped  into  the  room 
in  which  we  were  sitting  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the  great  lexi 
cographer.  Some  of  her  friends  dared  her  to  place  herself 
upon  his  knee,  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  give  him 
a  kiss.  She  took  the  dare,  and  what  do  you  think  the  Doctor 

said? 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 


54  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 
I  hope  he  corrected  the  brazen  hussy! 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Not  at  all,  madam.  He  was  quite  equal  to  the  occasion.  He 
said:  "Do  it  again,  let  us  see  who  gets  tired  first." 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

[Coming  up.]  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  popularity : 
I  have  observed  that  women  frequently  prefer  his  company 
to  that  of  men  of  much  greater  physical  and  at  least  equal  men 
tal  attractions.  And  men  sometimes  surrender  their  minds  to 
his  in  a  most  surprising  manner.  A  few  moments  ago  a  gentle 
man  said  "Doctor"  and  I,  naturally,  turned  towards  him,  and 
what  do  you  suppose  he  said? — "No,  'tis  not  you  I  mean, 
Dr.  Minor, 'tis  Dr.  Major  there."  It  is  enough  to  make  a 
man  commit  suicide.  [Dr.  Johnson  overhears  the  last  fart  of  the 
conversation^ 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Meditatively.}  Death  will  overtake  us  all  too  soon,  no  need  to 
summon  him.  [Rousing  himself.}  Sir,  let  the  subject  alone:  you 
write  well,  be  satisfied  with  that  and  do  not  seek  always  to 
shine  in  conversation. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

Oh,  Dr.  Johnson,  that  reminds  me,  I  have  written  a  fable 
which  I  wish  to  submit  to  you :  A  school  of  little  fishes,  see 
ing  that  birds  can  fly  in  the  air  which  covers  both  the  land 

and 


ACT     SECOND.  55 

and  water  alike,  while  they  would  die  if  they  were  taken  from 
the  water,  petition  Jupiter  to  change  them  into  birds, — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
[Laughing.]  Such  writing  is  very  easy. 

Dr.  GOLDSMITH. 

Why,  sir,  it  is  not  as  easy  as  you  seem  to  think ;  if  you  were 
to  make  little  fishes  talk,  they  would  talk  like  whales. 

[Dr.  JOHNSON,  blowing  like  a  whale,  retires. 

Footman  announces  Mr.  PIOZZI,  Mrs.  CARTER,  Miss  STREAT- 
FIELD.  Enter  a  distinguished  foreign  looking  gentleman,  who  bows 
very  low  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  a  charming  old  lady  in  an  elaborate 
cap,  and  a  very  beautiful  young  woman,  whose  chief  accomplish 
ment  appears  to  have  been  ability  to  force  real  tears  to  run  down 
her  cheeks,  much  to  the  delight  of  Henry  Thrale. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Buon'  giorno,  Signor  [with  a  slight  bow\.  Mrs.  Carter,  wel 
come,  how  sweet  you  look  !  Sophie,  [to  Miss  Streatfield]  Mr. 
Thrale  has  been  asking  for  you ;  don't  fail  to  humour  him  if  he 
asks  you  to  weep  for  him:  he  seems  very  ill  to  me.  [In  a  low 
voice.]  I  shall  be  glad  when  this  dinner  is  over. 

Sir  JOSHU4. 
Dr.  Johnson,  who  is  that  very  charming  old  lady?  I  should 

love  to  paint  her. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


56  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

That  is  my  dear  friend,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Carter,  the  translator 
of  Epictetus — and  equally  good  at  making  a  pudding — a 
very  accomplished  woman;  let  me  present  you.  [Turning  to 
Mrs.  Carter.]  Madam,  I  am  pleased  to  see  you;  my  friend 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  craves  the  honour  of  your  acquaintance. 
[They  bow.]  I  have  told  him  of  your  accomplishments,  not  the 
least  of  which  is  your  skill  —  with  a  pudding. 

Mr.  TURTLE. 

[To  Sophie  Streatfield]  You  are  looking  very  well  to-day; 
strange  that  tears  which  spoil  other  faces  only  increase  the 
beauty  of  yours.  [She  takes  his  offered  arm] 

Mr.  BOSPTELL. 

Dr.  Johnson,  have  you  met  Dr.  Franklin  of  Pennsylvania  ? 
He  is  a  most  distinguished  man. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

"  Distinguished  in  Pennsylvania ! "  sir,  but  what  is  he  in  Lon 
don?  I  have  heard  of  his  endeavour  to  force  his  acquaintance 
upon  Mr.  Gibbon. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Mr.  Gibbon  is  an  ugly,  disgusting  man  and  poisons  our  club 
for  me. 

Sir  JOSHU4. 

When  did  he  meet  Dr.  Franklin? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     SECOND.  57 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  it  appears  that  Mr.  Gibbon  and  Dr.  Franklin,  as 
you  call  him,  were  spending  a  night  at  the  same  inn  on  the 
road  to  Paris.  Franklin,  discovering  that  Gibbon  and  he  were 
under  the  same  roof,  sent  the  landlord  to  say  that  he  would 
be  pleased  to  pass  the  evening  with  him,  to  which  Mr.  Gibbon 
very  properly  replied  that  while  he  esteemed  him  as  a  man, 
yet  as  an  enemy  to  his  King  and  country  he  had  no  wish  to 
make  his  acquaintance. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 
Very  well  said. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

But,  sir,  you  appear  not  to  have  heard  the  sequel.  Dr.  Frank 
lin,  in  a  polite  note,  replied  that  when  in  the  course  of  Mr. 
Gibbon's  writing  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  empires  he  came  to 
write  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  British  Empire,  he  would 
be  happy  to  furnish  him  with  such  material  as  might  other 
wise  escape  his  attention. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

A  fly,  sir,  may  sting  a  noble  animal,  but  it  yet  remains  a  fly. 
I  am  willing  to  love  all  mankind  except  an  American ;  they  are 
a  race  of  convicts  and  ought  to  be  thankful  for  anything  we 
do  to  them  short  of  hanging. 

Miss  MORE. 

Dr.  Johnson,  I  am  going  to  ask  if  you  will  oblige  me  by  look 
ing  over  the  pages  of  a  tragedy  I  am  writing.  I  have  not  quite 
finished  it  yet  —  I  have  so  many  irons  in  the  fire. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Then,  madam,  I  would  urge  you  to  put  your  tragedy  in  the 
fire  along  with  your  irons. 

Mrs.   THRJLE. 

Dr.  Johnson,  here  is  a  lady,  a  very  particular  friend  of  mine, 
anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance.  Mrs.  Delaney,  I  present 
my  good  friend  Dr.  Johnson. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  am  honoured  by  your  notice,  madam. 

Mrs.  DELJNEY. 

Your  Dictionary,  sir,  has  given  me  so  much  pleasure — while 
it  changes  the  subject  very  often— 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  confess  that  it  does,  madam,  have  that  fault  in  common 
with  most  dictionaries. 

Mrs.  DEL4NEY. 

I  observed  with  pleasure  that  it  has  very  few  naughty  words 
in  it, — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  hope,  madam,  that  you  have  not  been  looking  for  them. 

Mrs.  DEL4NEY. 

Oh!  fie,  Dr.  Johnson,  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing?  I  did, 
however,  observe  that  you  omitted  altogether  the  word 
Ocean. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     SECOND.  59 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Omit  the  word  ocean,  madam,  impossible!  [Stalking  across  the 
room  to  the  Dictionary,  which  lies  upon  a  table,  finding  the  word, 
and  pointing  to  it.]  There  is  the  word,  madam,  but  you  would 
look  for  it  in  vain  if  you  spell  it  o-s-h-u-n. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  have  compared  your  work  with  that  of  the  French  Academy 
and  I  am  overjoyed  to  see  in  how  many  respects  it  excels, — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Why,  sir,  what  would  you  expect  from  fellows  that  eat  frogs  ? 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Did  the  making  of  the  definitions  give  you  much  trouble? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Thought  rather  than  trouble.  We  all  know  what  light  is,  but 
it  is  not  easy  to  tell  what  it  is. 

Mrs.  DEL4NEY. 

But,  sir,  how  came  you  to  define  pastern  as  the  knee  of  a 
horse  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Ignorance,  madam,  pure  ignorance.  The  fact  is,  a  dictionary 
is  like  a  watch,  the  worst  is  better  than  none  and  the  best 
cannot  be  expected  to  go  always  right. 

Mr.  BARETTI,  the  Italian  tutor  in  the  Thrale  family,  coming  up 

unannounced. 

Ah! 


60  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Ah!  Baretti,  here  I  am,  placed  on  the  defensive  by  a  lady 
who  challenges  the  definitions  in  my  Dictionary. 


Mr.  BARETTI. 

To  frivolous  censure,  sir,  no  other  answer  is  necessary  than 
that  supplied  by  your  own  very  excellent  preface.  The  Dic 
tionary  is  a  monument  of  scholarship,  and  I  deeply  regret 
that  the  Italian  language  has  nothing  comparable  with  it. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Dr.  Johnson,  were  you  disturbed  when  the  town,  having  in 
mind  your  definition  of  pension,  —  "An  allowance  made  to 
any  one  without  an  equivalent;  in  England  it  is  generally 
understood  to  mean  pay  given  to  a  state  hireling  for  treason 
to  his  country," — criticized  you  for  the  acceptance  of  one? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Disturbed  at  the  criticism  of  the  town!  Certainly  not!  I  wish 
my  pension  had  been  twice  as  large  that  the  public  could 
have  made  twice  as  much  fuss  about  it.  The  pension,  sir,  was 
given  not  for  anything  I  was  to  do,  but  for  what  I  had  al 
ready  done. 

Mr.  THRALE. 

[In  a  loud  voice.]  I  have  an  announcement  to  make :  Few  of 
my  guests  know  that  this  company  is  assembled  in  honour 
of  Mrs.  Thrale's  birthday.  We  shall  drink  her  health  at  the 
table,  meantime  I  wish  to  present  her  with  these  flowers. 
[Handing  her  a  huge  bouquet  of  roses.] 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 


ACT     SECOND.  61 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Oh,  sir,  you  embarrass  me;  at  my  time  of  life,  birthdays  are 
more  honoured  in  the  breach  than  in  the  observance. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  assure  you,  madam,  the  years  have  left  no  trace ;  you  might 
indeed  be  taken  for  one  of  your  own  daughters. 

Mrs.  THRJLE. 

You  flatter  me.  And  you  are  at  the  same  time  busying  your 
self  with  the  problem,  How  old  is  she?  Well,  I  confess  to 
[with  a  smile]  thirty-five.  [Pouting.]  Nobody  sends  me  verses 
nowadays,  yet  Swift  fed  Stella  with  them  till  she  was  six  and 
forty,  I  remember.  Do,  Dr.  Johnson,  make  a  set,  impromptu, 
with  the  rhyme  on  thirty-five — not  more,  remember. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Walking  up  and  down  in  deep  thought,  clapping  his  hands  together -, 
quite  unconsciously  attracting  the  attention  of  all.}  Why,  madam,  a 
request  from  a  lady  upon  her  birthday  is  in  the  nature  of  a 
command.  Let  me  see.  [Very  slowly,  until  he  gets  fairly  started.} 

"  Oft  in  danger,  yet  alive, 
We  are  come  to  thirty-five, 
Long  may  better  years  arrive, 
Better  years  than  thirty-five. 
Could  philosophers  contrive 
Life  to  stop  at  thirty-five, 
Time  his  hours  should  never  drive 
O'er  the  bounds  of  thirty-five. 

High 


62  DR.     J 


O  H  N  S  O  N. 


High  to  soar^  and  deep  to  dive, 

Nature  gives  at  thirty-five. 

Ladies,  stock  and  tend  your  hive, 

Trifle  not  at  thirty-five^ 

For  how  e'er  we  boast  and  strive, 

Life  declines  from  thirty-five. 

He  that  ever  hopes  to  thrive 

Must  begin  at  thirty-five; 

And  all  who  wisely  wish  to  wive 

Must  look  on  Thrale  at  thirty-five.''9 

['There  is  much  applause,  during  which  can  be  heard ':] 

Mr.  G4RRICK. 

Marvellous. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Astonishing. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Oh,  sir,  you  are  a  wonderful  man ! 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Nay,  madam :  now  you  see  what  it  is  to  come  to  a  dictionary- 
maker  for  verses.  Do  you  observe  that  the  rhymes  run  in 
alphabetical  order  exactly? 

Mrs.  THRALE. 
Which  only  increases  my  amazement. 

Mr.  MURPHY. 

Let  me  shake  your  hand,  sir.  You  have  given  us  a  wonder 
ful  example  of  your  readiness,  astounding,  at  your  age.  What 

would 


ACT     SECOND.  63 

would  you  not  give,  sir,  to  be  thirty-five  once  more  your 
self? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  I  should  be  content  to  be  as  foolish,  almost,  as  you 
are. 

Mr.  MURPHY. 
But  we  are  getting  on,  Dr.  Johnson,  we  are  getting  on. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

We  are,  sir,  as  you  say,  getting  on,  but  that  is  no  reason  why 
we  should  discourage  one  another. 

Mr.  MURPHY. 

You  are  a  philosopher,  sir.  I  have  tried,  too,  in  my  time  to 
be  a  philosopher,  but  I  don't  know  how:  cheerfulness  was 
always  breaking  in. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Signer  Piozzi  has  been  good  enough  to  yield  to  my  persuasions 
and  will  play  and  sing  for  us  that  exquisite  "Aria  Parlante," 
which  is  the  talk  of  the  town,  if  we  may  have  a  moment's 
quiet.  [Conversation  ceases.  Signor  Piozzi  takes  his  place  at  the 
pianoforte  and  for  a  few  moments  plays  and  sings  very  agreeably. 
When  he  ceases  there  is  a  rush  to  thank  and  congratulate  him.  Dr. 
Johnson  only  seems  unimpressed.] 

Mr.  G4RRICK. 

Superbly  done!  [To  Dr.  Johnson.]  That  piece  is  very  difficult. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


64  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Sir,  I  would  that  it  had  been  impossible. 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Dr.  Johnson,  we  have  had  good  talk.  You  have  tossed  and 
gored  several  persons.  It  is  a  pleasant  company. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  Mr.  Thrale  gathers  about  him  the  best — I  will 
not  say  the  highest — company  in  London.  He  is  a  remark 
able  man.  I  honour  him ;  if  his  mind  marks  the  hours  rather 
than  the  minutes,  it  is  enough.  He  does  not  burden  himself 
with  details. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
He  is  a  gentleman. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

He  is,  sir,  a  new  species  of  gentleman,  living,  as  you  see,  in 
vulgar  prosperity. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
His  time  is,  I  suppose,  largely  spent  in  making  money. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

It  is,  sir,  and  there  are  indeed  few  ways  in  which  a  man  can 
be  more  innocently  employed  than  in  making  money. 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 
He  might  devote  himself  to  literature. 


Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     SECOND.  65 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

For  his  amusement,  sir:  the  happiest  life  is  that  of  a  man  of 
business  with  some  literary  pursuits  for  his  amusement. 

Enter  FOOTMAN,  who  throws  open  the  doors. 

FOOTMAN. 
Dinner  is  on  the  table. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Good!  A  time  comes  in  a  man's  life  when  he  is  in  need  of  the 
repairs  of  the  table. 

[Immediately  a  procession  is  formed.  'Two  by  two  in 
"tragedy  step"  they  enter  the  dining-room:  Mr.  Thrale 
with  Sophie  Streatfeld  on  his  arm;  Mr.  Murphy 
offers  his  arm  to  Miss  Eurney,  who  accepts  it,  upon 
which  Dr.  Johnson  almost  knocks  over  several  people 
in  an  effort  to  retrieve  Miss  Burney,  which  he  at  last 
does,  much  to  Mr.  Murphy  s  chagrin.  Mrs.  Thrale 
puts  her  arm  through  Mr.  Murphy  s  and  leads  him 
in,  as  the  curtains  falls. 

[The  curtain  remains  down  one  minute  to  suggest  the  lapse  of  one 
hour;  when  it  is  raised  the  stage  is  deserted.  Almost  immediately 
the  doors  to  the  dining-room  are  thrown  open  and  a  number  of  the 
guests  rush  out  in  great  confusion] 

Mr.  GJRRICK. 

Mr.  Thrale  will  recover:  he  has  had  these  attacks  before. 

Mr.  MURPHY. 


66  D  R.      J  O  H  N  S  O  N. 

Mr.  MURPHY. 

That  is  the  trouble;  he  has  been  repeatedly  warned  by  his 
physician  against  overeating.  I  observed  that  he  had  become 
very  flushed  just  before  he  fell  forward. 

Miss  STRE4TFIELD. 
Is  he  dead? 

Mr.  G4RRICK. 
No,  but  the  attack  is  a  severe  one.  He  must  be  bled. 

Mrs.  1HRALE. 

Oh,  sir,  let  no  time  be  lost;  these  attacks  come  with  increas 
ing  frequency. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
[Taking  control  of  the  situation^ 

[To  a  Servant.]  Send  a  man  at  once  on  horseback  to  Dr. 
Brocklesby  and  tell  him  a  valuable  life  is  at  stake.  Meanwhile 
Mr.  Thrale  must  be  got  to  his  bed.  Dr.  Goldsmith  will  give 
us  the  benefit  of  his  skill.  He  has  not,  I  hope,  forgotten  the 
use  of  a  lancet. 

[Curtain  falls  as  Henry  Thrale  is  seen  quite  uncon 
scious  in  a  large  chair  carried  by  two  servants. 


Act  III. 


Characters  in  Act  III, 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
SERVANT. 
Mrs.   THRALE. 
Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Mr.  BARCLAY. 
Mr.  PERKINS. 
Miss  BURNEY. 
Miss  THRALE. 


ACT    III. 

The  morning  room  at  Streatham.  A  large,  bright,  comfortable  apartment 
with  a  fireplace  in  which  a  wood  fire  is  burning  brightly;  with  doors  to  right 
and  left.  Between  the  large  casement  windows,  which  open  to  the  floor,  are 
open  shelves  filled  with  booh.  On  the  walls  are  a  number  of  fine  mezzotint 
portraits  of  the  famous  authors^  statesmen,  and  actors  of  the  period.  There 
are  several  large  writing-tables,  with  pens,  ink,  and  paper  at  hand.  Easy 
chairs  are  conveniently  placed  on  either  side  of  the  fireplace  and  at  the 
windows.  The  room  is  suggestive  of  what  might  be  called  scholarly  comfort. 
On  the  hearthrug  a  large  dog  is  seen,  asleep,  otherwise  the  room  is  deserted. 
The  time  is  about  noon.  More  than  a  year  has  passed  since  the  last  act. 


Dr.  JOHNSON  enters  and  looks  around. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

MADAM,  are  you  here  ?  [To  himself.}  I  love  not  to  come  down 
to  vacuity,  [talking  towards  the  fireplace  and  seeing  the  dog.] 
Presto,  you  are,  if  possible,  a  lazier  dog  than  I  am.  [Going  to 
the  bell  pull  and  giving  it  a  tug.  After  a  moment  a  SERVANT  ap 
pears.}  Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Thrale  this  morning? 

SERF4NT. 

Yes,  sir,  Mrs.  Thrale  had  breakfast  some  time  ago  with  Miss 
Burney.  They  are,  I  think,  walking  in  the  grounds.  Shall  I 

go  fetch  them,  sir? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


yo  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Yes,  do,  —  no,  wait  a  minute.  I  shall  not  send  for  her.  No, 
bring  me  my  breakfast. 

SERPENT. 
Yes,  sir,  will  you  be  'aving  some  cold  chicken  and  'am,  sir  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Yes,  whatever  there  is,  in  some  quantity ;  I  am  hungry  this 
morning. 

SERVANT. 
Will  you  look  at  the  paper,  sir? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  —  yes,  bring  it  to  me.  [SERVANT  leaves  the  room. 

[Speaking  to  himself \]  One-half  that  one  reads  in  the  papers 
is  not  true;  the  other  half  is  not  important.  \Rather  irritably.] 
Surely  Mrs.  Thrale  knows  that  I  do  not  like  to  eat  alone. 
\Enter  SERVANT  with  newspaper  and  large  tray  of  breakfast  sun 
dries,  which  he  places  on  the  table  before  Dr.  Johnson,  who  at  once 
begins  eating.  After  a  few  moments  he  opens  paper  and  presently 
begins  to  read  aloud.]  "  Subscribers  are  beginning  to  wonder 
whether  they  will  ever  receive  the  long-promised  edition  of 
Shakespeare  from  the  hands  of  Dr.  Johnson.  If  it  is  not  soon 
delivered  in  the  ordinary  way,  a  Caesarian  operation  may  be 
come  necessary."  What's  this?  [Continuing  to  read] 

u  He  for  subscribers  baits  his  hook 
And  takes  your  cash,  but  where  's  the  book? 

No 


A  C  T       T  H  I  R  D.  71 

No  matter  where  :  wise  fear,  you  know, 
Forbids  the  robbing  of  a  foe; 
But  what,  to  serve  our  private  ends, 
Forbids  the  cheating  of  our  friends?" 

That's  Churchill,  the  scoundrel!  This  must  not  be  per 
mitted.  I  have,  unluckily,  lost  the  list  of  my  subscribers  and 
spent  the  money,  but  by  labour  the  damage  can  be  repaired. 
[After  a  pause.}  This  attack  will  have  only  temporary  currency . 
I  must  set  about  this  work  to-morrow.  "To-morrow,  and 
to-morrow,  and  to-morrow."  Why  is  not  my  lady  here  to 
pour  out  my  tea?  [After  a  pause.}  He  who  dislikes  his  own 
company  cannot  be  certain  that  it  will  be  enjoyed  by  others. 
Ah!  here  she  is. 

Enter  Mrs.  THRALE,  charmingly  dressed  in  a  white  frock  with 
black  ribbons,  carrying  a  great  basket  of  roses  in  her  arms;  she 
proceeds  to  arrange  these  in  vases  around  the  room. 

Dear  madam,  I  have  been  longing  for  you,  I  am  indeed  lonely 
when  you  are  absent. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Good  morning,  my  dear  Dr.  Johnson.  I  cannot  always  be 
here;  I  have,  as  you  know,  many  domestic  duties.  Is  not 
Fanny  about?  She  should  have  poured  your  tea. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  have  seen  no  one  but  the  servant,  madam,  and  he  is  as 
sleepy  as  a  dormouse.  Fanny  is  probably  engaged  upon  her 
book,  an  example  I  would  do  well  to  follow.  Have  you  seen 

this 


72  DR.     JOHNSON. 

this  attack  on  me  in  the  paper?  [Handing  Mrs.  fhrale  the 

paper.} 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

[G/ancing  at  it.}  Yes,  I  saw  it;  what  shall  you  do  about  it? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Ignore  it,  madam.  I  would  rather  be  attacked  than  unno 
ticed.  An  attack  upon  an  author  does  him  a  service.  A  man 
who  says  my  book  is  bad  is  less  my  enemy  than  he  who  lets 
it  die  in  silence. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

A  man's  fame  is  different  from  a  woman's. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

It  is,  madam.  A  man's  fame  is  a  shuttlecock;  if  it  be  struck 
only  at  one  end  of  the  room  it  falls  to  the  ground.  Instead  of 
being  angry  at  those  who  write  against  me,  I  should  smile  to 
think  that  they  are  unintentionally  keeping  me  before  the 

public. 

Enter  RATTLE. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 
What  is  it,  Rattle  ? 

RATTLE. 

Miss  Esther,  madam,  has  a  sore  throat,  madam,  she  wishes 
you  would  come  to  her. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 
Those  children  of  mine  are  always  catching  something.  Tell 

her  I  shall  be  with  her  directly. 

RATTLE. 


A  c  T    T  H  i  R  D.  73 

RATTLE. 
Yes,  madam.  [Goes  out. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

You  must,  sir,  finish  your  Shakespeare.  [Goes  to  the  mantel 
piece  and  takes  some  papers  therefrom.]  I  find  your  notes  all 
over  the  house.  [Reading.]  "Notes  are  often  necessary,  but 
they  are  necessary  evils.  Let  him  that  is  as  yet  unacquainted 
with  the  powers  of  Shakespeare,  and  who  desires  to  feel  the 
highest  pleasure  that  the  drama  can  give,  read  every  play  from 
the  first  scene  to  the  last,  with  utter  negligence  of  all  his 
commentators."  Excellent  advice,  sir,  but  it  is  a  pity  that  it 
should  be  lost  upon  my  mantelpiece.  It  should  be  in  a  book, 
sir,  a  bound  book.  And  now  you  must  excuse  me,  I  must 
go  to  Queenie.  [Goes  out. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[*To  himself.}  I  shall  send  for  Fanny.  She  shall  keep  me  com 
pany.  [He  sits  alone  for  a  moment  and  then  crosses  the  room  to  the 
bell  pull] 

Enter  SERVANT. 

SERF  4  NT. 

As  I  came  through  the  'all,  sir,  I  'card  a  gentleman  hasking 
for  you,  sir.  I  think  it  is  Mr.  Boswell,-sir. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Show  him  in  at  once.   [To  himself^  cheerfully]  It  is   always 

pleasant  to  see  Jamie. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 


74  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Mr.  Bo  SWELL  enters. 

Ah,  Bozzy,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  hope  I  see  you  well.  Just 
come  from  Scotland?  [They  shake  hands  cordially.} 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Yes,  sir,  I  arrived  last  evening  and  put  up  for  the  night  at 
the  Saracen's  Head.  You  know  the  place,  sir. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Yes,  sir,  on  Snow  Hill,  and  a  most  excellent  inn  it  is ;  there 
is  no  private  house  in  which  people  can  enjoy  themselves  so 
well  as  at  a  capital  inn.  I  sometimes  think  a  tavern  chair  is 
the  throne  of  human  felicity. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

But,  sir,  as  I  hope  to  remain  in  London  for  some  time,  I  de 
sired  a  more  convenient  location  and  have  taken  lodgings 
in  Great  Queen  Street,  off  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  And  how 
are  my  friends  Mrs.  Williams,  Levett,  and  the  rest  of  your 
household? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  we  have  tolerable  concord  at  home  but  no  love.  Williams 
hates  everybody.  Levett  hates  Desmoulins  and  does  not  love 
Williams.  Desmoulins  hates  them  both.  Poll  loves  none  of 
them. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  cannot  understand,  sir,  how  you  can  surround  yourself  with 
such  necessitous  and  undeserving  people. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     THIRD.  75 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

If  I  did  not  assist  them,  no  one  else  would,  and  they  must 
be  lost  for  want. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

And  your  work,  sir.  How  have  you  been  employing  your 
time?  Does  your  Shakespeare  go  forward? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  for  years  I  beat  the  track  of  the  alphabet  with  sluggish 
resolution.  Since  I  have  spent  so  much  of  my  time  here,  in 
the  broad  sunshine  of  life,  I  have  lived  a  life  of  total  idleness 
and  the  pride  of  literature.  But  I  must  amend  my  ways.  And 
how  did  you  leave  your  lady? 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Not  as  well  as  might  be;  she  has  indeed  been  threatened  with 
a  consumption,  but  it  is  now  mending.  She  has  sent  you  a 
pot  of  marmalade  of  her  own  making  which  I  shall  deliver 
at  your  lodgings  in  Bolt  Court. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

That  is  kind,  particularly  as  she  does  not  love  me.  Is  it  a 
peace  offering?  I  have  not  forgotten  her  remark:  "  I  have  seen 
many  a  bear  led  by  a  man,  but  never  before  a  man  led  by  a 
bear."  One  does  not  love  to  be  called  a  bear. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Why,  sir,  my  wife  thinks  doubtless  you  have  too  great  an  in 
fluence  over  her  husband,  which  is  perhaps  not  unnatural  to 

a 


76  DR.     JOHNSON. 

a  female  mind,  but  at  heart  she  reveres  you  almost  as  much 
as  I  do. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  wish  I  could  think  so. 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 
It  is  delightful,  sir,  to  be  in  London  again. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  you  will  find  no  man  at  all  intellectual  who  does 
not  delight  in  London.  When  a  man  is  tired  of  London  he 
is  tired  of  life,  for  there  is  in  London  all  that  life  can  afford. 
But,  sir,  I  never  knew  any  one  with  such  a  gust  for  the  town 
as  you  have. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

The  streets,  sir,  are  so  animated,  I  love  the  life  in  the  tav 
erns,  the  eating, — yes,  sir,  and  the  drinking,  —  and  the  play. 
They  are,  I  hear,  giving  an  excellent  performance  of  "The 
Beggar's  Opera"  at  Drury  Lane. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

So  I  understand,  but  I  do  not  now  go  much  to  the  play;  my 
eyesight  is  failing,  and  my  hearing,  as  you  know,  has  long  been 
defective. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Call  remembrance  to  your  aid,  sir:  you  have  not  forgotten, 
I  am  sure,  the  charms  of  Lavinia  Fenton.  Was  she  not  a  de 
lightful  Polly? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     THIRD.  77 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

She  was  indeed,  sir,  in  spite  of  the  painful  and  ridiculous 
lines : 

u  For  on  the  rope  that  hangs  my  Dear 
Depends  poor  Polly's  life:' 

You  doubtless  best  remember  the  lines  sung  by  Macheath : 

"  How  happy  could  I  be  with  either 
Were  t'other  dear  charmer  away" 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Why  yes,  sir,  it  is,  I  believe,  an  entirely  masculine  senti 
ment. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Sir,  I  believe  it  is. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

But,  Miss  Fenton :  I  have  heard  that  she  became  the  mis 
tress  of  the  Duke  of  Bolton  and  that  he  has  married  her.  I 
hope  he  may  be  happy. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  love  and  marriage  are  different  states.  He  wanted  to 
gratify  his  passion,  the  wench  wanted  a  husband  and  a  title, 
both  are  suited.  The  match  was  not,  I  should  say,  made  in 
Heaven. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Pray,  sir,  do  you  not  suppose  that  there  are  fifty  women  in 
the  world  with  any  one  of  whom  a  man  may  be  as  happy  as 

with  any  one  woman  in  particular? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


78  DR.    JOHNSON 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Aye,  sir,  fifty  thousand. 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Then,  sir,  you  are  not  of  the  opinion  of  those  who  imagine 
that  certain  men  and  certain  women  are  made  for  each  other, 
and  that  they  cannot  be  happy  if  they  miss  their  counterparts. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

To  be  sure  not,  sir.  I  believe  that  marriages  would  in  gen 
eral  be  as  happy,  and  often  more  so,  if  they  were  all  made  by 
the  Lord  Chancellor  upon  a  due  consideration  of  the  charac 
ters  and  circumstances,  without  the  parties  having  any  choice 
in  the  matter. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

In  your  judgment,  Dr.  Johnson,  should  a  man  invariably 
marry  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  I  would  advise  no  man  to  marry  who  is  not  likely 
to  propagate  understanding.  Marriage  is  much  more  neces 
sary  for  a  man  than  for  a  woman,  for  he  is  much  less  able  to 
supply  himself  with  domestic  comforts. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

It  would  appear  so.  Quite  recently,  sir,  a  friend  who  had  been 
notoriously  unhappy  with  his  wife,  upon  her  death  imme 
diately  married  again. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


A  c  T    T  H  i  R  D.  79 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

That,  sir,  might  be  called  the  triumph  of  hope  over  experi 
ence. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Dr.  Johnson,  have  you  ever  considered  the  possibility  of  a 
second  marriage? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why  yes,  sir,  frequently ;  indeed,  I  may  say  that  I  have  been 
thinking  of  it  this  very  morning. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
You  amaze  me,  sir! 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

And  why,  sir?  I  was  very  happy  with  Mrs.  Johnson;  her 
birthday,  our  wedding  day,  and  the  day  of  her  death,  have 
been  generally  kept  by  me  with  solemn  observation.  By  tak 
ing  a  second  wife  I  pay  the  highest  possible  compliment  to 
my  first.  Marriage  would  enable  me  to  enjoy  the  continuance 
of  domestic  comfort  to  which  I  have  long  been  accustomed. 
Marriage  is  the  best  state  for  man  in  general,  and  every  man 
is  a  worse  man  in  proportion  as  he  is  unfit  for  it. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

But,  sir,  you  are,  it  would  seem,  very  comfortably  settled 
here. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  in  some  sort,  I  am;  but  since  the  death  of  Henry 
Thrale  there  is  something  lacking  in  this  establishment.  The 

household 


8o  DR.     JOHNSON. 

household  lacks  a  head,  as  does  the  business ;  indeed,  it  is 
Mrs.  Thrale's  wish  that  the  brewery  be  disposed  of.  As  one 
of  the  executors  of  Thrale's  will,  I  stood  out  against  it,  but 
I  know  not  why  I  should  be  concerned:  there  is  no  male 
heir  to  succeed  to  the  business,  and  the  estate  could  be  the 
more  easily  cared  for  if  it  were  sold,  and  the  proceeds  in 
vested  in  the  funds.  Indeed,  a  knot  of  rich  Quakers  are  to 
call  this  very  morning  to  discuss  the  matter. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

In  which  case  I  should  be  going,  but  I  would  be  glad  to  say 
a  word  of  greeting  to  Mrs.Thrale  before  I  take  my  departure. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  will  send  for  the  lady,  if  you  will  be  good  enough  to  ring. 
[Boswell  goes  to  the  bell  pull}  Thank  you.  How  did  you  leave 
my  Lord  of  Auchinleck,  your  father  ?  You  keep  on  good  terms 

with  him,  I  hope. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Passably,  sir.  We  differ  over  money  matters :  he  recently  paid 
bills  for  me  to  the  sum  of  a  thousand  pounds,  but  I  am  still 
in  some  distress  over  a  number  of  small  debts. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Small  debts  are  like  small  shot :  they  are  rattling  on  every  side 
and  can  scarcely  be  escaped  without  a  wound ;  great  debts  are 
like  cannon,  of  loud  noise  but  little  danger. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Just  my  experience,  sir.  Your  readiness  never  ceases  to  amaze 

me: 


A  C  T       T  H  I  R  D.  8l 

me:  you  instantly  put  into  words  thoughts  which  we  ordinary 
mortals  but  clumsily  revolve  in  our  minds. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  in  conversation  I  admit  to  a  certain  verbal  facility. 
But  Mrs.  Thrale  will  wish  me  to  extend  the  hospitality  of  this 
house:  will  you  have  chocolate  or  join  me  in  a  cup  of  tea? 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  breakfasted  not  much  over  an  hour 
ago,  you  will  excuse  me,— 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

And  my  other  friends  in  Edinburgh,  how  did  you  leave 
them? 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Very  well,  sir;  Lord  Monboddo  desired  me  very  particularly 
to  present  his  compliments  to  you. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

He  still  insists  that  mankind  is  descended  from  monkeys. 
[Laughing.]  And  is  still  searching  for  his  own  tail,  I  suppose  ? 
If  he  wishes  to  own  a  monkey  for  his  ancestor,  I  know  not 
why  I  should  dispute  his  claim. 

Enter  SERVANT. 

Will  you  say  to  my  lady  that  Mr.  James  Boswell  has  just 
arrived  from  Scotland  and  would  pay  his  respects  to  her  if  she 
is  disengaged? 


82  DR.     JOHNSON. 

SERFANT. 
Yes,  sir.  [Goes  out. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

I  often  think,  sir,  of  our  tour  to  the  Hebrides,  I  hope  the 
remembrance  of  it  gives  you  as  much  pleasure  as  it  does  me. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  I  do  not  know  how  much  pleasure  you  derive  from 
the  remembrance,  but  it  was  the  most  pleasant  frolic  I  ever 
had,  and  I  would  not  for  five  hundred  pounds  forego  the 
recollection  of  it.  If  you  and  I  live  to  be  old  men,  we  shall 
take  great  delight  in  talking  over  our  experiences. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Why  should  we  wait  to  be  old  to  enjoy  that  pleasure  ?  Do  you 
remember,  sir,  our  experiences  on  the  vessel  going  to  Mull 
and  how  seasick  you  were  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  do  not,  indeed,  look  back  upon  that  particular  experience 
with  any  great  amount  of  pleasure. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
And  yet,  sir,  the  sailors  did  not  seem  to  heed  the  storm. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

A  storm  makes  a  sailor  but  little  more  miserable  than  he  is 
already.  No  man  will  be  a  sailor  who  has  contrivance  enough 
to  get  himself  into  a  jail,  for  being  in  a  ship  is  like  being  in 
a  jail,  with  the  added  chance  of  being  drowned. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 


A  c  T     T  H  i  R  D  .  83 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

And  what  has  become  of  your  great  brown-cloth  coat  with 
the  side  pockets,  each  of  which  might  almost  have  held  a 
volume  of  your  Dictionary? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why,  sir,  I  brought  that  safely  home  with  me.  And  my  great 
oak  stick  that  I  carried  all  the  way  from  London,  and  which 
I  was  going  to  present  to  some  museum,  which  disappeared 
so  unaccountably:  you  never  heard  of  it  again,  I  suppose? 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

No,  sir,  as  you  said  at  the  time,  "Consider  the  value  of  such 
a  piece  of  timber  in  Mull;  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the 
man  who  found  it  would  part  with  it." 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why  no,  sir,  being  a  Scotchman;  you  are  to  consider  that  there 
is  very  little  soil  in  Scotland  and  very  few  trees,  it  indeed 
chiefly  consists  of  stone  and  water. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

It  does,  sir,  but  you  will  admit  that  Scotland  has  a  great  many 
noble,  wild  prospects. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  it  has,  and  so  has  Norway;  and  Lapland  is  remarkable 
for  its  prodigious,  noble,  wild  prospects.  But,  sir,  let  me  tell 
you  that  the  noblest  prospect  which  a  Scotchman  ever  sees  is 

the  high  road  that  leads  him  to  England. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 


84.  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Dr.  Johnson,  you  seem  to  forget  that  God  made  Scotland. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  remember,  sir,  that  he  made  it  for  Scotchmen. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
We  are  a  fine,  sturdy  race,  sir. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why  yes,  sir,  I  believe  you  are.  Goldsmith  says  somewhere 
that  man  is  the  only  animal  that  has  reached  a  natural  size  in 
your  country. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Ah,  sir,  since  we  last  met  we  have  experienced  a  great  loss : 
Goldsmith  has  been  taken  from  us. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Do  not  speak  of  it,  sir;  I  cannot  think  of  it  with  tranquillity. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Was  he  buried  in  the  Abbey,  sir  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  sir,  in  the  Temple.  He  was  greatly  in  debt  at  the  time 
of  his  death  and  it  was  thought  that  there  might  have  been 
a  scandal.  He  was  buried  at  night  in  ground  just  north  of 
the  Temple  Church:  it  was  very  solemn. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 


A  c  T    THI  RD.  85 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
I  have  heard  that  he  was  careless  in  money  matters. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

He  was,  sir,  but  let  not  his  frailties  be  remembered,  he  was 
a  very  great  man :  he  left  scarcely  any  style  of  writing  un 
touched,  and  touched  nothing  that  he  did  not  adorn. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
And  Garrick,  sir,  his  death  is  a  great  loss. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  never  think  of  Garrick  but  the  tears  come  into  my  eyes. 
Garrick's  death  eclipsed  the  gaiety  of  nations  and  impover 
ished  the  public  stock  of  harmless  pleasure.  Why,  sir,  I  would 
not  hear  of  the  election  of  his  successor  in  our  Club  until 
he  had  been  dead  a  year:  I  insisted  that  we  undergo  a  year's 
widowhood. 

Mr.   BOSWELL. 
I  knew  that  he  was  one  of  your  oldest  friends. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

We  came  to  London  together,  penniless;  that  is  to  say,  I 
had  tuppence  in  my  pocket  and  he  had  three  ha'pence  in  his. 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 
I  have  heard  that  he  died  a  very  rich  man. 


Dr.  JOHNSON. 


86  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Sir,  no  actor  has  ever  enjoyed  the  public  esteem  so  much  as 
Garrick.  His  profession  made  him  rich,  and  he  made  his  pro 
fession  respectable. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
He  rests,  I  believe,  in  the  Abbey? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Yes,  sir,  and  properly,  at  the  foot  of  Shakespeare's  monu 
ment. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 
I  shall  place  a  wreath  upon  his  grave; 

"a  merrier  man, 

Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour  s  talk  withal" 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

And  I  will  go  with  you,  and  afterwards  we  will  call  upon  his 
lady  in  the  Adelphi. 

Enter  Mrs.  THRALE. 

Mrs.  IHRALE. 
Mr.  Boswell,  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  \fhey  shake  hands.] 


Mr.  BOSWELL. 
Madam,  your  most  obedient. 


Mrs.   TURTLE. 


ACT    THIRD.  87 

Mrs.  THRJLE. 

Shall  you  stay  long  with  us?  I  have  heard  you  say  that  no 
lover  ever  longed  for  his  mistress  with  greater  ardour  than 
you  for  London. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

Why,  madam,  that  is  so:  it  is  my  hope  to  spend  several 
months  in  town.  It  has  been  several  years  since  I  was  last  in 
London,  during  which  time  there  have  been  many  and  sad 
changes. 

Mrs.  THR^LE. 

Yes,  and  more  are  impending.  Since  Mr.  Thrale's  death  and 
the  marriage  of  several  of  my  daughters,  Streatham  has  be 
come  a  burden.  Neither  education  nor  inclination  fits  me  for 
the  management  of  a  great  business ;  of  all  things,  I  loathe 
a  brewery  with  its  mysterious  adulterations. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Well,  madam,  we  hope  soon  to  relieve  you  of  that  burden. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 
Then  I  think  I  shall  retire  to  Brighthelmstone  for  a  season. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Surely,  madam,  you  would  not  think  of  giving  up  Streatham. 
Think  of  the  many  happy  years  you  have  spent  here  sur 
rounded  by  such  comforts  and  elegancies  as  are  within  the 

reach  of  few. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 


88  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

My  life  here  may  not  have  been  as  happy  as  you  think.  Mr. 
Thrale,  my  late  lord  and  master,  was  not  invariably  kind.  I 
married  not  so  much  to  please  myself  as  to  please  my  family. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

It  may  be  that  you  will  again  think  of  marriage.  Dr.  John 
son  and  I  have  just  been  speaking  of  second  marriages  and  are 
agreed  that  they  need  no  defense.  There  is,  I  think,  nothing 
more  beautiful  than  a  marriage  of  inclination  on  both  sides. 

Enter  SERVANT. 

SERF 'A 'NT. 
Mr.  Barclay  and  Mr.  Perkins  are  in  the  drawing-room. 

Mr.  BOSWELL. 

[Rising  to  go.]  Madam,  I  kiss  your  hand.  Dr.  Johnson,  I  hope 
to  meet  you  at  the  Club  on  Wednesday.  I  bid  you  good 
morning.  [Goes  out. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

[Fo  Servant.}  Mr.  Boswell's  hat  and  coat.  Ask  the  gentlemen 
to  join  us  here. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Madam,  I  have  heard  your  plans  with  great  displeasure. 
Think  well  before  you  leave  Streatham,  with  which  you  have 
for  so  long  been  identified. 

Enter 


A  c  T    T  H  i  R  D.  89 

Enter  Mr.  BARCLAY  and  Mr.  PERKINS. 

Mr.  BARCLAY. 

Mrs.  Thrale,  your  servant;  Dr.  Johnson,  yours.  We  have 
come  in  the  matter  of  the  brewery.  Mr.  Perkins  and  I  have 
caused  a  very  careful  inventory  of  the  property  to  be  made, 
which  in  essentials  agrees  with  the  one  you  yourself  gave  us. 
We  have  had  a  number  of  conferences  with  our  friends  in  the 
city,  and  in  all  the  circumstances  feel  justified  in  offering  you 
the  princely  sum  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand 
pounds  for  the  property. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  would  decline  it,  madam.  We  are  not  here  to  sell  a  parcel  of 
boilers  and  vats,  but  the  potentiality  of  growing  rich  beyond 
the  dreams  of  avarice. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

I  am,  sir,  of  the  opinion  that  we  should  hold  out  for  one 
hundred  and  fifty.  With  care  the  property  can  be  enormously 
developed.  Mr.  Thrale  by  his — I  regret  to  say — folly,  sev 
eral  times  placed  it  in  jeopardy.  A  saving  of  only  sixpence 
in  a  barrel  would  mean  a  capital  sum  at  the  end  of  the  year, 
and  such  economies  can,  I  am  sure,  be  readily  effected. 

Mr.  PERKINS. 

You  forget,  madam,  that  I  am  entirely  familiar  with  the  busi 
ness  and  know  better  than  you  can  possibly  do  its  value  to 

a  penny. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 


9°  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Mrs.  THRALE. 

No,  it  is  because  you  know  the  value  of  the  business  that  I 
ask  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  I  would  not  have  my 
daughters  say  that  I  am  unmindful  of  their  interest. 

Mr.  BARCLAY. 
One  hundred  and  twenty-five,  madam. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Let  the  subject  go  over  until  after  we  have  eaten.  A  good  din 
ner  lubricates  business.  Shall  we  stroll  through  the  grounds  ? 
The  brewery  has  enabled  us  to  live  in  some  state  here  for 
many  years.  Let  me  show  you  the  glass  houses. 

They  go  out  and  the  curtain  falls  to  suggest  the  passing  of  a  few 
hours.  When  it  rises  again  Miss  BURNEY  is  seen  reading  in  a 
great  chair;  after  a  moment  she  puts  down  the  book. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

[70  herse/f.]  Excitement  is  running  high  in  this  house,  and  no 
wonder.  It  is  not  every  day  that  negotiations  for  the  sale  of 
a  great  business  are  carried  on  right  under  one's  very  nose. 
I  smell  malt  and  hops  now, — 

Enter  Miss  THRALE. 

Miss  THRALE. 

Oh,  my  dear  Fanny,  have  you  seen  mamma  or  Dr.  Johnson  ? 
I  wonder  where  they  are?  What  can  be  detaining  them? 

Miss  BURNEY. 


F4NNY  BURNEY 


A  C  T      T  H  I  R  D.  QI 

Miss  BURNEY. 
Transactions  of  magnitude  are  not  concluded  in  a  minute. 

Miss  THR4LE. 

I  saw  from  my  window  a  gentleman  arrive  on  horseback.  Do 
you  know  who  he  was  ? 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Not  his  name.  He  was  here  for  a  moment,  but  was  not  pre 
sented.  After  he  had  gone  I  asked  Dr.  Johnson  who  he  was, 
and  he  said  that  while  he  was  loath  to  speak  ill  of  a  man  be 
hind  his  back,  he  believed  he  was  an  attorney.  Mr.  Barclay 
sent  for  him. 

Miss  THRJLE. 

Some  time  ago  the  party  were  walking  in  the  shrubbery,  and 
mamma  left  them  and  came  to  me  and  said  one  way  or  the 
other  the  affair  will  soon  be  concluded.  If  all  goes  well  she 
will  wave  to  me  a  white  pocket  handkerchief.  [She  goes  to  a 
long  window,  opens  it,  and  looks  out.]  I  see  no  one — yes,  behind 
that  tree,  Dr.  Johnson  and  mamma ;  where  are  the  others  ?  Can 
they  have  gone?  Oh,  Fanny,  come,  look!  Mamma!  she  sees 
me,  she  waves  her  handkerchief.  The  brewery  is  sold !  Now 
we  are  no  longer  in  trade  and  I  am  an  heiress. 

[She  goes  out  at  the  window,  leaving  Fanny  alone. 

Presently  the  FOOTMAN  comes  in  with  a  large  tea  tray  which  he 
places  on  the  table,  as  Dr.  JOHNSON,  with  several  papers  in  his 
hand,  and  Mrs.  THRALE  enter.  Mrs.  fhrale  pours  tea. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


92  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Madam,  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  happy  termination  of 
this  affair.  It  only  remains  for  you  to  add  your  signature  to 
this  agreement.  You  will  sign  just  above  my  name.  [Mrs. 
Thrale  signs.] 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 
How  wonderful  it  all  is!  [S tops  pouring  fea.] 

Miss  BURNEY. 
I  think  I  shall  go  in  search  of  Queenie.  [Leaves. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

If  an  angel  from  heaven  had  told  me  thirty  years  ago  that  the 
man  I  knew  by  the  name  of  Dictionary  Johnson  would  one 
day  become  partner  with  me  in  a  great  trade,  and  that  we 
should  jointly  or  separately  sign  notes,  drafts,  etc.,  for  three 
or  four  thousand  pounds  of  a  morning  and  finally  dispose  of 
the  business  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds,  how 
unlikely  it  would  have  seemed  ever  to  happen. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Unlikely  is  not  the  word,  madam.  It  would  have  seemed  in 
credible;  neither  of  us  was  then  being  worth  a  groat,  and  both 
as  far  removed  from  commerce  as  birth,  literature,  and  inclina 
tion  could  get  us. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

I  have  been  accused  of  being  only  Mr.  Thrale's  sleeping  part 
ner:  what  nonsense!  However,  it  is  all  over  now;  my  three 

days 


A  c  T    T  H  i  R  D.  93 

days  a  week  at  the  counting-house  are  a  thing  of  the  past. 
Farewell  to  the  brewhouse  and  to  the  Borough!  Adieu  to 
trade  and  tradesmen !  I  have  purchased  restoration  to  my  ori 
ginal  rank  in  life.  I  shall  retire  to  Bath  and  repose  my  purse. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Retire  to  Bath,  madam!  Repose  your  purse!  What  nonsense 
is  this  ?  Your  purse  will  be  equal  to  the  demands  made  upon 
it.  We  live  here  in  comfort,  if  not  in  luxury.  What  more  could 
any  woman  want? 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 
She  might  want  a  husband. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
A  husband !  God  forgive  you,  madam,  if  I  have  heard  aright. 

Mrs.  THRJLE. 

Some  time  since  I  determined  to  tell  you  when  I  could.  Why 
should  I  not  marry?  My  children  are  of  age  and  are  inde 
pendent,  as  indeed  I  also  am.  I  love  and  am  loved:  if  I  have 
concealed  the  fact  from  you,  it  was  only  to  save  both  of  us 
needless  suffering.  Speak  kindly  to  me.  You  make  me  feel 
that  I  am  acting  without  a  parent's  consent — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
A  parent!  I  had  dared  to  hope,  madam,  that  your  feeling  for 

me  was — such- 
Mrs.  THRJLE. 


94  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Stop,  sir!  Dr.  Johnson,  for  many  years  I  have  devoted  my 
self  to  your  service,  have  been  at  your  beck  and  call;  your 
comfort  was  my  first,  almost  my  only  consideration,  but  the 
time  has  come  for  me  to  think  of  myself.  I  married  once  to 
please  my  family,  I  shall  shortly  marry  to  please  myself,  — 
and  one  other. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
You  stun  me,  madam;  may  I  inquire, — 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 
Certainly,  all  the  world  must  soon  know  it:  Signor  Piozzi. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Piozzi!  Madam,  a  foreigner  and  a  fiddler!  Impossible! 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Why,  sir,  it  was  you  who  first  taught  me  to  respect  Mr. 
Piozzi.  I  remember  well  when  I  met  him  at  an  evening  party 
at  Dr.  Burney's.  He  was  asked  to  play;  I  misbehaved,  and 
you  reproved  me,  saying,  "  Why,  madam,  because  you  have 
no  ear  for  music,  do  you  destroy  the  performance  of  a  gifted 
musician?" 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  may  have  taught  you  to  respect  him,  but  that  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  love  him.  I  ndeed,  I  think  you  cannotbe  so  lost 
to  shame  as  to  abandon  yourself,  your  children,  your  religion, 
and  your  country,  for  an  Italian  music  master. 

Mrs.  TURTLE. 


ACTTHIRD.  95 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

Wherein  is  the  shame?  He  loves  me  and  I  love  him.  Know 
you  a  better  basis  for  marriage  than  love? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Love!  madam.  You  bewilder  me!  Are  you  so  lost  in  self- 
respect  as  to  throw  yourself  into  the  arms  of  an  adventurer? 
I,  who  have  loved  you,  esteemed  you,  reverenced  you;  I, 
who  for  years  have  thought  of  you  as  the  first  of  woman 
kind,  entreat  you  to  consider  before  you  disgrace  yourself. 

Mrs.  THRJLE. 

Sir,  how  dare  you?  In  what  way  would  I  disgrace  myself  by 
marrying  Signor  Piozzi?  His  birth  is  not  meaner  than  that 
of  my  first  husband,  his  sentiments  are  not  meaner,  his  pro 
fession  is  not  meaner,  and  his  superiority  in  that  profession 
is  acknowledged  by  all  the  world.  Is  it  want  of  fortune,  then, 
which  is  ignominious?  The  character  of  the  man  I  have  chosen 
has  no  other  claim  to  such  an  epithet. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
His  religion? 

Mrs.  THRJLE. 

The  religion  to  which  he  is  an  adherent  will,  I  hope,  teach 
him  to  forgive  insults  he  has  not  deserved;  mine,  I  hope, 
will  enable  me  to  bear  yours  with  dignity  and  patience.  The 
suggestion  that  I  have  forfeited  my  fame  is  the  greatest  insult 
I  have  yet  received.  My  fame  is  as  unsullied  as  snow,  or  I 

should 


96  DR.     JOHNSON. 

should  think  it  unworthy  of  him  who  must  henceforth  pro 
tect  it. 

Enter  Miss  THRALE  and  Miss  BURNEY. 

Miss  THR4LE. 
I  hear  high  words.  What  is  the  cause? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Queenie,  your  mother   has  just  declared  her  passion  for 
Piozzi. 

Miss  THRJLE. 

For  Piozzi !  Good  God !  [Turning  to  Dr.  Johnson.}  Can  you  not 
restrain  her? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  fear,  indeed,  that  she  has  lost  all  sense  of  shame. 

Miss  BURNEY. 
Oh,  Mrs.  Thrale,  let  me  entreat  you! 

Miss  THRJLE. 

I  thought  I  detected  her  partiality  for  the  music  master  but 
hesitated  to  speak:  we  are  not  the  best  of  friends, — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
If,  madam,  the  last  act  is  yet  to  do, — 

Mrs.  THRALE. 
This  is  too  much.  I  must  ask  you,  sir,  to  leave  this  house  and 

at  once. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


m~:: 

©  Emery  Walktr^  London 


MR.   PIOZZI 
From  a  Drawing  by  George  Dance 


ACT     THIRD.  97 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  shall  at  once  obey  you,  madam.  I  cannot  remain  under  the 
roof  of  one  who  would  indulge  herself  in  such  an  amour. 

Miss  THRJLE. 
Can  it  be  that  she  is  my  mother? 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

[In  tears.']  How  can  you  speak  to  me  so!  I  have  done  noth 
ing  to  deserve  this.  My  child  turns  against  me !  Fanny,  do  you 
speak  to  me  one  word  of  comfort. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Not  I,  madam.  I  blush  to  be  present  at  such  a  scene.  ^Turn 
ing  to  Miss  nra/e.]  My  dear,  I  think  we  owe  it  to  our  char 
acters  to  leave  this  house.  [They  go  out. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Oh,  madam,  forgive  me.  I  spoke  in  haste  and  in  passion. 
Whatever  you  have  done,  however  I  may  lament  it,  I  pray 
God  for  your  forgiveness:  I  pray  that  He  may  grant  you 
every  blessing,  that  you  may  be  happy  now  and  hereafter. 
And  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me ;  I  am  ready  to  do  what  I  can  to 
contribute  to  your  happiness  in  return  for  that  kindness  which 
has  soothed  twenty  years  of  a  life  radically  wretched. 

Mrs.  THR4LE. 

That  is  spoken  like  my  old  friend.  Only  the  fear  of  your  dis 
approbation  has  given  me  anxious  moments.  It  would  be  a 

great 


DR.    JOHNSON. 

great  grief  to  me  to  quit  England  had  we  unkind  feelings 
toward  each  other. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Quit  England!  Oh,  my  dear  lady,  prevail  upon  Mr.  Piozzi 
to  remain  here;  you  may  live  here  with  more  dignity  than  in 
Italy  and  with  greater  security.  Your  rank  will  be  higher, 
and  your  fortune  more  under  your  own  eye.  Do  not  let  Mr. 
Piozzi  or  anybody  else  put  me  quite  out  of  your  head.  God's 
blessing  be  upon  you,  madam,  you  have  always  been  very 
dear  to  me.  [Mrs.  THRALE  bows  low  and  goes  out. 

[Dr.  Johnson  throws  himself  in  a  chair ^  overcome  with  emotion  ;  pres 
ently  he  says:}  I  shall  lose  myself  in  London ;  in  London  a  man 
is  always  near  his  burrow.  [Raises  his  hands  in  prayer.]  To  Thy 
Fatherly  protection,  O  Lord,  I  commend  all  the  members  of 
this  dear  family! 


Act 


Characters  in  Act  IV. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

FRANK. 

Mrs.  DESMOULINS. 

Mr.  HOOLE. 

MARY  WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Sir  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS. 

Mrs.  SIDDONS. 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 

Mr.  WINDHAM. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Mr.  BURKE. 

YOUNG  GIRL. 


ACT   IV. 

A  large  room  in  an  old  house  in  Bolt  Court  just  off  Fleet  Street.  A  door  to 
the  right  opens  into  a  small  passage;  door  to  the  left,  into  a  bedroom.  Two 
windows  look  upon  the  court.  The  dark  red  curtains  are  drawn.  There  are 
several  bookcases  filled  with  old  books  in  some  confusion.  There  is  also  a  large 
table  not  far  from  one  of  the  windows  on  which  are  two  lighted  candles,  for 
it  is  night.  A  large  armchair  stands  close  to  the  table.  An  old  sofa  is  in  one 
corner.  There  are  a  few  unimportant  prints  on  the  walls.  A  fire  burns  fit 
fully  in  a  small  grate.  TJie  time  is  December  13,  1 784.  The  weather  is  damp 
and  cold.  The  room  is  deserted.  Presently  Dr.  JOHNSON  in  a  long  dark 
dressing-gown,  looking  very  ill,  enters,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  coloured  ser 
vant,  FRANK,  followed  by  Mrs.  DESMOULINS.  They  help  him  to  the  large 
chair,  propping  him  up  with  pillows. 


Mrs.  DESMOULINS. 
ARE  you  feeling  any  easier,  sir? 

Dr.   JOHNSON. 

I  fear  my  days  of  ease  are  over,  but  I  should  not  complain : 
he  that  would  live  to  be  old  has  God  to  thank  for  the  in 
firmities  of  age.  I  may  possibly  live,  at  least  breathe,  three 
days,  perhaps  three  weeks,  but  I  find  myself  gradually  grow 
ing  weaker. 


FRANK. 
Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  sir? 


Dr.  JOHNSON. 


io2  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Hoole  promised  to  come  and  read  the 
Bible  to  me;  should  he  come  this  evening,  as  I  hope  he  may, 
admit  him  promptly. 

FRJNK. 
Yes,  sir.  I  hear  steps  in  the  passage.  [Goes  to  the  door,  opens  if.] 

Mr.  HOOLE  enters. 

Mr.  HOOLE. 

My  dear  friend,  I  came  to  redeem  my  promise.  How  are 
you  this  evening? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Do  not  ask,  sir;  I  am  very  ill.  What  is  the  weather?  It  has, 
I  think,  no  effect  upon  the  human  frame,  but  it  may  power 
fully  affect  one's  spirits. 

Mr.  HOOLE. 
It  is  a  cold,  raw  night. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  thought  so;  it  is  good  of  you  to  come  to  me. 

Mr.  HOOLE. 

Not  at  all.  I  came  to  read  to  you.  What  shall  I  read  ?  The 
prayers  for  the  sick, — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
No,  sir,  no.  I  can  pray  for  myself.  Read  one  of  the  psalms, 

— the  twenty-third. 

Mr.  HOOLE. 


ACT     FOURTH.  103 

Mr.  HOOLE. 

\*Takes  a  Bible  from  the  table,  opens  it,  and  begins  to  read  in  a  low 
voice.]  "The  Lord  is  my  shepherd;  I  shall  not  want.  He  mak- 
eth  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures :  he  leadeth  me  beside 
the  still  waters.  He  restoreth  my  soul: — " 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Louder,  my  dear  sir,  louder,  I  entreat  you,  or  you  read  in 
vain. 

Mr.  HOOLE. 

"Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  I  will  fear  no  evil:  for  thou  art  with  me; — " 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  have  often  wondered  when  I  came  to  die  whether  I  would 
wish  a  friend  with  me  or  have  it  out  with  God,  alone.  \After  a 
pause.]  I  have  been  peevish,  sir,  you  must  forgive  me ;  when 
you  are  as  old  and  sick  as  I  am  perhaps  you  may  be  peevish, 
too. 

Mr.  HOOLE. 

Do  not  mention  it,  I  beg  of  you.  You  are,  it  seems,  a  little 
better. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  think  I  am.  I  would  give  one  of  these  legs  for  a  year  more 
of  life,  I  mean  of  comfortable  life,  not  such  as  that  I  now 
suffer. 

A  young  lady,  MARY  WOLLSTONECRAFT,  enters  quietly,  and  ad 
dresses  Mrs.  Desmoulins. 

Mrs.  DESMOULINS. 


IO4-  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Mrs.  DESMOULINS. 

Miss  Wollstonecraft  to  sit  with  you,  sir.  [She  comes  forward; 
Dr.  Johnson  greets  her.] 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

You  have  not  forgotten  me,  I  see.  It  is  good  of  you  to  come. 
Come  sit  by  me.  [She  sits] 

Miss  WOLLSTONECR4FT. 
I  am  glad  to  come.  How  are  you,  sir? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Very  ill,  indeed,  even  with  you  by  my  side;  think  how  ill  I 
should  be  were  you  at  a  distance. 


Miss  W 

I  wish  I  had  something  to  bring  you  but  I  am  very  poor; 
a  silver  teapot  is  all  I  own  in  the  world.  I  have  nothing. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Don't  say  so,  my  dear.  You  have  my  heart;  I  hope  you  don't 
call  that  nothing.  Are  you  still  concerning  yourself  with  the 
wrongs  of  women  ? 

Miss  WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Yes,  sir,  and  shall  continue  to  do  so,  so  long  as  the  law  dis 
criminates  against  us. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

a  flash  of  his  old  controversial  self  returning]  My  dear, 

Nature 


ACT     FOURTH.  105 

Nature  has  given  women  so  much  power  that  the  law,  very 
wisely,  gives  them  very  little. 


Miss  WOLLSTONECR4FT. 

But,  sir,  laws  were  made  by  men  and  imposed  upon  women. 
Is  that  fair? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

The  law  is  the  last  result  of  human  wisdom  acting  upon  hu 
man  experience  for  the  benefit  of  mankind. 

Mr.  HOOLE. 

I  must  not  become  involved  in  this  discussion.  I  am  going, 
sir,  and  shall  meet  Dr.  Gibbons ;  have  you  any  message  for 
him? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Tell  Dr.  Gibbons  I  should  be  glad  to  see  him.  If  he'll  call 
on  me  and  dawdle  over  a  cup  of  tea,  I  shall  take  it  kind. 
\They  shake  hands. ~\ 

[Mr.  HOOLE  goes  out  accompanied  by  FRANK. 

Miss  WOLLSTONECR4FT. 

I  cannot  debate  with  you,  sir.  I  love  you,  sir,  and  wish  I 
could  revere  your  opinions  as  I  do  you. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  used  to  debate  mightily  for  the  sport  of  it,  but  it  fatigues 
me  now.  I  am  a  sick  old  man. 

Miss  WOLLSTONECRJFT. 


io6  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Miss  WOLLSTONECR4FT. 

I  should  not  have  troubled  you,  sir,  with  my  opinions.  I 
shall  not  when  I  come  again.  May  I  come  again  ? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Whenever  you  will,  my  dear.  I  am  entirely  dependent  upon 
my  friends. 

[She  takes  his  hand,  kisses  if,  and  goes  out,  leaving 

him  alone  with  Mrs.  Desmoulins. 


Mrs.  DESMOULINS. 
Would  you  like  a  book,  sir? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  —  yes,  a  book  should  help  us  to  enjoy  life  or  endure  it. 
Bring  me  a  small  book;  a  book  that  can  be  held  readily  in 
the  hand  is  the  most  useful  after  all. 

Mrs.  DESMOULINS. 

[Going  to  the  table  and  fetching  several  small  volumes.]  There  is 
a  knock  on  the  door.  [Mrs.  Desmoulins  goes  to  the  door  and 
opens  it.] 

Sir  JOSHUA  REYNOLDS  enters,  goes  up  to  Dr.  Johnson,  and  greets 
him  tenderly. 

Sir  JOSHU4. 

My  dear  friend,  you  have,  I  think,  a  better  colour  than  when 
I  saw  you  last.  We  shall  soon  have  you  about  again. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     FOURTH. 


107 


Dr.  JOHNSON. 

You  are,  sir,  one  of  the  kindest  friends  I  ever  had.  If  I  wished 
to  speak  evil  of  you,  I  would  not  know  how  to  set  about  it. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 
Did  you  pass  a  comfortable  night? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  sir.  I  was  sleepless  and  in  pain.  I  thought  for  a  time  that 
my  mind  was  affected;  to  test  myself  I  composed  Latin 
verses,  they  were  poor  verses  and  I  knew  that  they  were 
poor;  this  comforted  me,  for  I  knew  that  I  had  not  lost  my 
critical  faculties. 

Sir  JOSHU4. 
I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  our  friend  Dr.  Taylor. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
[His  mind  wandering  a  little '.]  Dr.  Taylor? 

Sir  JOSHUA. 

Dr.  Taylor  of  Ashbourne,  sir.  Your  old  friend  and  mine,  for 
whom  you  have  in  the  past  written  so  many  sermons.  He 
wrote  to  say  that  he  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  portrait. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
The  portrait  ? 

Sir  JOSHUA. 

Why  yes,  don't  you  remember?  Your  portrait  that  I  painted 

for 


io8  DR.     JOHNSON. 

for  him :  you  are  leaning  slightly  forward,  there  is  a  red  cur 
tain  at  the  back,  you  thought  it  made  you  look  too  old. 


Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Ah,  I  remember;  I  know  the  room  in  which  it  is  to  hang,  the 
room  with  the  crystal  lustres.  Dr.  Taylor  was  pleased,  was  he  ? 

Sir  JOSHU4. 
Yes,  he  said  it  was  an  excellent  likeness. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

The  chief  excellence  of  a  portrait  is  the  resemblance.  I  think 
if  you  will  assist  me  to  the  table  I  will  write  a  letter.  [He  is 
assisted  to  the  table,  where  for  a  few  moments  he  writes,  pausing 
now  and  then  for  a  word.  When  the  letter  is  finished,  he  hands  it 
to  Sir  Joshua. ]  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  read  it?  my  mind 
is  not,  I  fear,  entirely  clear. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 

[Faking  the  letter  and  reading  it  slowly]  "My  dear  Madam: 
Among  the  earthly  felicities  by  which  Heaven  has  ameliorated 
the  lot  of  mortals,  none  is  more  likely  to  enhance  personal 
rectitude  or  promote  domestic  bliss  than  the  congenial  inter 
course  of  friend  and  friend.  I  have  recently,  madam,  passed 
several  weeks  in  your  home,  cheered  by  all  that  prosperity 
could  supply  of  comfort,  and  all  that  friendship  may  afford 
of  affection.  You  will  not  fail  to  comprehend  that  I  am  deeply 

sensible 


ACT     FOURTH.  109 

sensible  of  your  benefaction.  Suffer  not  your  family  to  for 
get,  dearest  of  ladies, 

Your  most  humble  and  most  obedient  servant, 

SAM  JOHNSON." 

An  excellent  letter,  sir,  I  am  sure  the  recipient  will  greatly 
value  it. 

Dr.   JOHNSON. 

I  must  try  once  more.  \Again  writes^  and  then  'very  slowly  reads 
the  letter  aloud.}  "Mr.  Johnson,  who  came  home  last  night, 
sends  his  respects  to  dear  Doctor  Burney  and  all  the  dear 
Burneys,  little  and  great."  [To  Mrs.  Desmoufins.]  When  Frank 
returns  will  you  ask  him  to  deliver  the  letter  to  Dr.  Burney  ? 
Sir  Joshua  will  be  good  enough  to  post  the  other. 

Sir  JOSHU4. 

Certainly. 

«*••« 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

An  odd  thought  strikes  me:  we  shall  receive  no  letters  in  the 
grave.  Where  shall  I  be  buried,  think  you? 

Sir  JOSHUA. 
Doubtless  in  the  Poet's  Corner  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  hope,  sir,  I  may  be  thought  worthy  of  that  honour. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 
I  am  sure  of  it,  sir. 

The 


no  DR.    JOHNSON. 

The  door  opens  and  Mrs.  SIDDONS  enters  in  the  manner  of  a  tragedy 
queen. 

Mrs.  SIDDONS. 

I  was  told  I  might  enter;  I  hope  I  did  not  disturb, — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Trying  to  rise.]  Why,  no,  madam ;  I  am  glad  to  be  disturbed. 
[Looking  around  and  observing  that  no  chair  is  ready  for  her.] 
You,  madam,  who  so  often  occasion  a  want  of  seats  to  other 
people,  will  the  more  easily  excuse  the  want  of  one  yourself. 
I  am  greatly  honoured  by  this  attention. 

Mrs.  SIDDONS. 

I  have  but  a  moment,  sir;  I  am  playing  Queen  Catharine 
to-night,  but  Drury  Lane  is  not  far  and  I  could  not  resist  the 
impulse  of  paying  my  respects  to  one  I  so  greatly  esteem. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

It  is  a  fine  part  and  I  wish  that  I  could  once  more  hobble 
to  the  theatre  myself.  Catharine  is  a  noble  part. 

Mrs.  SIDDONS. 
Sometimes  when  I  play  less  noble  parts,  I  think  of  your  lines : 

"  The  drama's  laws,  the  drama's  patrons  give, 
And  we  who  live  to  please  must  please  to  live." 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
It  is  good  of  you,  madam,  to  remember  them:  I  am  penetre 

with  your  kindness. 

Mrs.  SIDDONS. 


MRS.  SIDDONS 
From  a  Portrait  by  Gilbert  Stuart 


ACT     FOURTH.  in 

Mrs.  SIDDONS. 
My  time  is  up;  may  I  come  again? 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  am,  alas,  always  at  home,  madam. 

[She  shakes  his  hand,  bows-,  and  goes  out. 

Enter  FRANK  with  Dr.  BROCKLESBY,  an  old  friend,  who  greets 
the  Doctor  tenderly. 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 

Sir,  as  I  came  through  the  Strand  I  met  that  rake,  Jack 
Wilkes.  He  inquired  very  kindly  after  you  and  desired  me  to 
give  you  his  best  respects. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

That  is  good  of  Jack!  How  many  years  ago  it  is  that  I  first 
met  him — at  Mr.  Billy's  table!  He  bore  an  evil  reputation 
in  those  days. 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 
And  still  does,  I  fear. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  hope  he  does  not  deserve  it.  As  I  grow  older  I  think  bet 
ter  of  mankind  and  am  prepared  to  call  a  man  a  good  man 
on  easier  terms  than  heretofore — not  that  I  would  call  Jack 
a  good  man,  but  he  is  a  man  of  parts :  he  keeps  the  ball  of 
conversation  rolling  swiftly.  Freedom  from  pain,  and  con 
versation,  is  all  I  require  to  make  me  happy. 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 


ii2  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 
I  have  come  to  do  what  I  can, — 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

"Can'st  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased; 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow; 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain; 
And,  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote, 
Cleanse  the  stufFd  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart?" 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 

"Therein  the  patient 
Must  minister  to  himself." 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
But  if  he  cannot,  sir!  To  die  is  dreadful, 

"  To  go  we  know  not  where ; 
To  lie  in  cold  obstruction  and  to  rot; 
This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod — " 

Knock  on  the  door^  which  is  opened  by  Mrs.  DesmouKns,  who  is  in 
constant  attendance.  EnterMr.WiNDHAM  and  Miss  BURNEY. 
They  greet  Dr.  Johnson  very  quietly  in  turn. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Fanny !  dear  Burney,  you  were  in  my  mind  when  a  short  time 

ago  I  wrote  a  note  to  your  father. 

Miss  BURNEY. 


ACT     FOURTH.  113 

Miss  BURNEY. 

I  have  just  heard  of  your  return  from  Oxford ;  the  journey 
was,  I  hope,  a  pleasant  one. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Yes,  but  I  was  glad  to  get  home.  This  is  not  [looking  around\ 
Streatham,  but  my  friends  are  about  me,  all  except  one. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Do  not  mention  her  name,  sir,  I  blush  and  weep  for  my  sex 
when  I  think  of  her. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Have  you  heard  from  her? 

Miss  BURNEY. 

No,  sir,  I  would  not  permit  her  to  write  to  me  however  much 
she  desired  to  do  so.  She  is,  I  hear,  with  Signer  Piozzi  in 

Milan. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  hope  she  may  be  happy.  I  owe  her  a  debt  of  gratitude  for 
unnumbered  acts  of  kindness  and  of  love. 

Mr.  WINDHAM. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  you  speaking  kindly  of  her,  sir ;  for  wit, 
genius,  generosity,  and  superlative  powers  of  entertainment, 
I  have  not  met  her  equal. 


Dr.  JOHNSON. 
Nor  have  I,  sir. 


Miss  BURNEY. 


DR.     JOHNSON. 


Miss  BURNEY. 
But  she  was  licentious. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Why  no,  Fanny,  do  not  say  so.  That  she  should  prefer  the 
company  of  Signer  Piozzi  to  that  of  a  very  sick  old  man  is 
but  natural,  as  it  is  perhaps  but  natural  that  the  sick  old  man 
should  have  resented  it. 

Mr.  W1NDHAM. 

Does  it  not  affect  you  unfavourably,  sir,  having  so  many  of 
us  in  your  room  ?  I  will  withdraw— 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  sir,  I  am  glad  to  have  my  friends  about  me.  I  have  al 
ways  desired  to  escape  from  myself.  I  wish  Jamie  Boswell 
were  here.  [Sudden  attack  of  coughing  seizes  the  Doctor,  who  has 
returned  to  the  large  chair.]  Oh,  sir,  you  cannot  conceive  with 
what  acceleration  I  advance  towards  death. 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 
\JVho  comes  up  to  him.]  I  fear  it  is  so. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
I  will  be  conquered.  I  will  not  capitulate. 

Mr.  WINDH4M. 

Permit  me  to  arrange  your  pillow.  I  think  I  may  be  able  to 
make  you  easier.  Arranges  pillow] 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


ACT     FOURTH.  115 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

That  will  do — all  that  a  pillow  can  do.  [Turning  towards  Dr. 
Brocklesby.~\  Tell  me  plainly,  sir,  is  it  possible  for  me  to  re 
cover? 

Dr.  SROCKLESBY. 
[Bowing  his  head.]  I  fear  it  is  not  possible. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Then,  sir,  I  will  take  no  more  physic,  not  even  opiates.  I  have 
prayed  to  God  that  I  might  render  up  my  soul  to  Him  un 
clouded. 

Mrs.  DESMOULINS. 
Mr.  Burke  is  coming  up  the  stair. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Dear  Burke,  one  of  the  finest  minds  in  England.  He  and  the 
Lord  Chancellor  —  they  tax  all  my  powers — it  is  good  of 
him  to  come. 

Enter  Mr.  EDMUND  BURKE. 

Mr.  BURKE. 
[To  Mr.  PFindham,  who  greets  him  quietly  at  the  door.]  How  is 

he? 

Mr.  WINDHAM. 

This  is  the  end,  I  think.  He  is  failing  fast. 

Mr.  BURKE. 
[Giving  his  hand  to  Dr.  Johnson.]  I  have  been  detained  at  the 

House.  I  hope  you  are  not  uncomfortable. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


n6  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

My  pains  have  left  me,  but  I  am  very  weak.  Dear  'Mund,  the 
end  cannot  be  far,  but  I  have  no  fear. 

Mr.  BURKE. 

Why  should  you,  sir  ?  Your  conscience  is  clear.  You  have  by 
precept  and  by  example  taught  us  how  to  live,  and  we  may, 
from  you,  learn  how  to  leave  this  world  with  Christian  resig 
nation. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

Do  some  act  of  kindness  every  day.  [His  mind  wanders.]  Put 
a  stone  on  dear  Tetty's  grave,  a  deep,  massy  stone. 

Mrs.  DESMOULINS. 
[Going  up  to  him.]  I  think  I  detect  a  change  in  his  breathing. 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 

[Taking  Dr.  Johnson's  hand.]  His  mind  comes  and  goes  fit 
fully. 

Mr.  BURKE. 

For  God's  sake,  sir,  can  nothing  be  done  ?  I  would  go  to  the 
end  of  the  earth  to  save  him. 

[//  is  evident  that  Dr.  Johnson  is  quite  unconscious  of  what  is  going 
on  around  him.  As  Mr.  Burke  passes  the  table  he  inadvertently 
sweeps  to  the  floor  a  sheet  of  paper  which  Mr.  f^indham  picks  up.] 

Mr.  WINDHAM. 

What  is  this?  A  Prayer  to  his  Maker.  [Reading.]  "Almighty 
and  merciful  Father,  to  Thee  be  thanks  and  praise  for  all 

Thy 


ACT     FOURTH.  117 

Thy  mercies,  for  the  awakening  of  my  mind,  and  the  op 
portunity  now  granted  of  commemorating  the  death  of  Thy 
Son,  Jesus  Christ,  our  Mediator  and  Redeemer.  Enable  me, 

0  Lord,  to  repent  truly  of  my  sins.  Enable  me  by  Thy  Holy 
Spirit  to  lead  hereafter  a  better  life,  teach  me  to  form  good 
resolutions  and  bring  them  to  effect,  and  when  Thou  shalt 
finally  call  me  to  another  state,  receive  me  to  everlasting  hap 
piness  for  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ's  sake." 

ALL. 
\Very  reverently.]  Amen. 

Mr.  BURKE. 

Proud  and  unyielding  to  those  above  him  in  rank,  kindly  and 
considerate  to  those  beneath  him  in  station,  humble  and  pros 
trate  before  his  God.  Oh,  Samuel  Johnson,  what  a  man  thou 
wert ! 

Miss  BURNEY. 

1  should  be  going. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 
We  should  remain,  I  think.  He  runs  a  race  with  death. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 
[Coming  to  himself.]  The  race  is  almost  run. 

Mr.  BURKE. 
I  am  afraid,  sir,  such  a  number  of  us  may  be  oppressive  to 

you. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


n8  DR.    JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

No,  sir,  it  is  not  so ;  and  I  must  be  in  a  wretched  state  indeed 
when  your  company  would  not  be  a  delight  to  me. 

Mr.  BURKE. 
My  dear  sir,  you  have  always  been  too  good  to  me. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

My  friends,  remember  me  in  your  prayers,  and  forgive  my 
acts  of  rudeness.  Tetty,  dear  girl, — 

Mr.  BURKE. 

His  mind  wanders ;  he  is  thinking  of  his  wife  on  whose  grave 
a  stone  has  just  been  laid. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 
What  a  man  he  was  in  his  prime !  What  a  towering  intellect 

he  had! 

"Take  him  for  all  in  all, 

I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again." 

Mr.  BURKE. 

Nor  any  of  us.  You,  sir,  have  made  the  Doctor  immortal 
with  your  brush.  I  wonder  if  Boswell  will  carry  out  his  inten 
tion  and  write  his  life  ? 

Sir  JOSHUA. 

No  doubt  of  it.  He  has  been  collecting  material  for  twenty 
years  and  will  do  it  very  well.  He  will  write  as  though  he 

were 


'SIR   JOSHUA   REYNOLDS 
From  a  Dra-iving  after  the  picture  by  Himself 


ACT     FOURTH.  119 

were  under  oath.  Johnson's  wisdom  and  his  wit  must  be 
embalmed  for  posterity.  His  talk  must  be  made  a  matter  of 

record. 

Miss  BURNEY. 

Ah,  sir,  with  all  his  wisdom  and  learning  he  had  more  comi 
cal  humour  and  love  of  nonsense  than  anybody  I  ever  saw. 

Mr.  WINDHAM. 

And  no  man  could  turn  a  compliment  more  neatly  than  he : 
while  he  was  a  scholar,  he  was  also  a  man  of  the  world.  I 
once  heard  him  say :  "  I  live  in  the  world  and  I  take  in  some 
degree  the  colour  of  the  world  as  it  moves  along." 

The  passage  door  opens  and  a  YOUNG  GIRL  enters. 

YOUNG  GIRL. 

Oh,  gentlemen,  I  must  see  him.  I  never  met  him,  but  he  is  so 
good.  He  sent  word  to  me  that  he  would  see  me  if  he  were 
dying.  Only  for  a  moment,  sir. 

Mr.  WINDHAM. 
Only  for  a  moment.  You  may  be  too  late. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

[Rousing  himself^  I  am  glad  you  have  come :  come  close  to 
me.  [She  kneels  beside  his  chair  and  takes  his  hand.  There  is  com 
plete  silence^\ 

YOUNG  GIRL. 

You  said  I  might  come  to  you,  if  you  were  dying. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 


I2O  DR.     JOHNSON. 

Dr.  JOHNSON. 

I  am  dying.  [Raising  his  hands  over  her  head.}  God  bless  you, 
my  dear.  [He  dies.} 

Dr.  BROCKLESBY. 
He  is  beyond  the  aid  of  man. 

Sir  JOSHUA. 

[In  tears}  My  dear,  dear  friend !  His  death  will  make  a  chasm 
which  nothing  can  fill. 

Mr.  WINDHAM. 

Boswell  should  give  his  biography  an  epic  character.  What 
life  save  his  would  bear  such  critical  inspection? 

Mr.  BURKE. 

None.  It  is  well  with  a  man  when  he  comes  to  die  to  have 
nothing  heavier  upon  his  conscience  than  having  been  a  little 
rough  in  conversation. 

CURTAIN. 


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